Second Born
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #86 A menacing stranger intrudes upon Spock's life, bringing shocking revelations and unprecedented changes.
1. The Untamed

_Note: The character Sola Thane, and her past relationship with Spock, are drawn from the Star Trek novel "Triangle", by Sondra Marshak and Myrna Culbreath._

 **Chapter 1: The Untamed**

"Nayo!"

The sharp command echoed in the training chamber and brought Nayo running. Anticipating a rebuke, he bowed his head before the master, hoping that the show of subservience would ward off any chastisement coming his way. At 6'1'', he stood considerably taller than Romak and he sensed that the difference in their height irked the Dark Master. But rather than punishing Nayo, Romak led him into an office and issued startling new instructions—the first in over twenty-three years.

"You will immerse yourself in the heretical society of Yanash."

Nayo experienced a rush of emotion, for he knew that Spock was a prominent member of that sect. It could only mean one thing. Now he was glad that he had held onto his early skills—the music, the languages, the tedious minutiae of science and interstellar cultures. Deep inside, a white-hot rage boiled away, pressuring him for release…and it focused on Ambassador Sarek's son. His feelings for Spock had not always been so fiercely negative. In the early days of conditioning, Nayo had been taught to proudly bear hunger and beatings and other trials, knowing that his resemblance to Spock gave him a singular value to the Black League. But when Spock left Vulcan and entered Starfleet, Nayo's usefulness diminished. Overnight he lost status among his fellow initiates, including the woman who stirred his interest. At the times of pon farr, as well as some other occasions, she had been willing to serve his needs, but after Spock's departure, her seductive eyes turned from him with disdain. For that he would have liked to slice her throat, but contented himself with poisoning the rare baroma plant that she tended so faithfully.

Later, Spock had died while saving the starship _Enterprise_. Nayo, who had once been the treasured centerpiece of Black League operations, was viewed as worthless. Even after the fal-tor-pan restored Spock to life, Nayo failed to regain any standing. The ensuing years had been bitter. But now, suddenly, all that was changing. Once more, Nayo's life would have purpose. The same physical characteristics that had kept him confined to the secret compound all his life would soon bring him a vitally important mission. He would burst upon the stage, an actor in a devious role that the other operatives could only envy. Knowing this, the mother of his son might seek him out. Once again they might share stolen moments of pleasure.

oooo

Nayo's master observed him working hard in the physical arts, and cuffed him across the ear. Though Nayo burned with resentment, he did not dare strike back.

"No!" Romak snapped. "Spock's body is soft. He is an instructor of priests. Let me see you explain the Kuru ritual, let me see you quote Yanashite scriptures from memory and speak convincingly of the days when you walked with the Shiav. Can you do that? No, you are too undisciplined. With you it is all about combat and mating. How can you hope to convince anyone? How can you discredit the Yanashite prigs if you are not believable?"

"I shall be," Nayo replied, all but strangling on his anger. And though he still worked his body in private, from that moment on, he threw all his energy into proving the master wrong—not only because of the mission he coveted, but also because of Kalen.

Nayo and Kalen had been boys together, and during the grueling years of formation, a friendship developed between them, even though it was strictly forbidden. Secretly they had shared their pain and their hopes until one day this same Master Romak called them forward. His cold sharp eyes had observed the signs of friendship, and now, in front of the assembled children, he demanded an explanation.

Nayo and Kalen had been taught to lie skillfully, but even though Kalen denied their relationship, Nayo could not look Kalen in the face and do it. Inwardly quailing, Nayo had stood beside his young companion—a frightened eight-year-old awaiting certain, harsh discipline.

But Romak had not raised the dreaded sturpa. Instead he told Nayo, "There are no friends in this compound. Therefore one of you must die."

In those days Nayo was of more value, so the master ordered him to kill Kalen.

Nayo stood frozen with horror. Master Romak did not repeat the order. Instead, he reached out and expertly snapped Kalen's neck himself. The boy fell into a lifeless heap, his moist brown eyes staring in disbelief. It was the last thing Nayo remembered before the sturpa fell. There beside Kalen's body, the master beat Nayo, and though his name was derived from a word meaning "cry of pain", he made no sound before he fainted.

For a long time afterward, Nayo's courage was questioned because he had refused the master's command. Then, at fourteen, he slayed a stranger who happened upon the hidden compound, and subsequently enjoyed an interval of respect—but he never forgot Kalen, nor the manner in which he died.

oooo

At last the moment of departure came. Nayo walked out of the desert compound and did not look back. The League had carefully arranged every detail of his passage. He could not travel to Earth by normal means, where sophisticated scanners would challenge his identity and uncover the contraband weapons he carried. A berth awaited him on a pirating freighter, and in a matter of days he slipped into Denver, Colorado along with a shipment of Romulan Ale.

Nothing in Nayo's training had adequately prepared him for a firsthand experience of Earth. Fat white clouds floated in a sky of blue, and the rich moist air was redolent with pleasing aromas. Everywhere plants grew in abundance, but it was the trees that left him staring—green trees of every shape and variety clustered the rugged, snow-capped mountains.

There in Colorado, as Nayo enjoyed the benefits of Earth, a plan began to form in his mind. Not the League's plan, but a different plan of his own making. All his life, he had studied the half-breed Spock, awaiting the moment when he could begin his campaign of deception. Unlike Spock, he had never known the guidance of a father or a mother's gentle attention. From earliest childhood Nayo had been schooled in hardship and cruelty, trained to carry out missions on behalf of the Dark Masters, to obey without question or argument. But now, as in the case of Kalen, he did not obey.

Well past the age of most fledgling operatives, Nayo traveled northward on his very first assignment, bypassing the taverns where he was supposed to drink liquor, womanize, and draw attention to himself. Instead, he grew a goatee and took his time on the back roads of Wyoming, devouring the lush beauty of Yellowstone Park. With the new plan settled in his mind, he turned west toward the Sawtooth Mountains of Idaho. The plan was simple. He would kill Spock. He would kill him and assume the Yanashite's identity. Of course, he could not hope to fool Spock's wife, the lovely and perceptive T'Naisa. A quick snap of the neck would finish her—an unfortunate accident while horseback riding. Spock had warned her of the danger. Grief-stricken, Nayo/Spock would abandon his Yanashite faith and his family, as he had done before. T'Beth would take her halfwit sister Tess, leaving Nayo/Spock free to denounce the Yanashites while enjoying Earth's exotic pleasures. As for women, he could not think of settling upon just one when there were so many that found Vulcans irresistible.

It was a good plan, one that provided for his needs while also serving the needs of the Black League.

oooo

For three days, Nayo lurked in the woods of Plum Creek. The seminary was not in session, and he watched undisturbed as Spock and his family went about their mundane activities. A spotted gray horse and a burro stood in the corral. Nayo knew them by name. He recognized Tess as she played in a clearing near the cabin or helped her exquisitely beautiful mother. T'Naisa's hair flamed red with sunlight as she tended the flowers and vegetables that grew so profusely in this natural paradise. All was peaceful until the son named James arrived and began nosing around in the woods. It did not take long to discover the reason why. Up the creek, Nayo saw him extract ore from a watery hole in the ground. After James left, Nayo went to the spot and found gold.

A dark thrill of excitement made his heart race. The gold settled it, then. As soon as James went home to his family, Nayo would find an opportunity to eliminate Spock. Meanwhile, his eyes followed Spock's movements with a bitter hatred born of envy. The thought of phasering the half-breed into oblivion was no longer satisfying. No. He longed to set hands on him, to feel Spock's flesh cringe with pain, as Nayo had cringed beneath the master's cruel lash for years on end. What horrors Nayo had suffered while Spock led a life of freedom and ease! Soon Spock would also know a moment or two of horror.

oooo

The horse in the corral nickered as Spock left the seminary building and headed for the cabin where Tess awaited him, her nose pressed to the window glass. T'Naisa would keep her inside, for it was almost dinnertime and the child had been washed clean from her outdoor play.

Spock glanced at the horse. As he had expected, Sultan's ears were pricked and attentive…but not in Spock's direction. The Appaloosa's eyes were firmly fixed on the woods.

Slowing, Spock tracked Sultan's line of vision and noticed a shadowy figure on the far side of the creek, loitering among the trees. He stopped, his first thought for the gold. But the stranger did not act as if he had anything to hide. It was a bearded man, Spock could see that now. He was dark of hair, and as Spock started toward him, the man openly beckoned…

Waiting across the creek, Nayo tensed in readiness as Spock approached. The fool—coming out alone and most likely unarmed, against a stranger. His overconfidence would be his downfall.

Twice Spock hesitated, but Nayo beckoned him onward in a friendly manner. At last Spock forded the little creek, stepping carefully from rock to rock, saving his shoes from the water. Then they stood face to face.

Hatred choked Nayo. He read the simple curiosity on Spock's face and knew that even now, the half-breed could not see past the beard's disguise.

Spock asked, "Can I be of assistance?"

Nayo loosed a derisive laugh. In the next instant, he lunged. The chopping blow knocked Spock flat, but Vulcan and Starfleet training brought him quickly to his feet. In combat stance, they circled slowly, eyes locked.

"Who _are_ you?" Spock questioned.

Nayo lashed out and purposely let Spock deflect the move, only to counter with a fist that slammed the half-breed against a tree trunk. Rich green blood flowed from Spock's mouth and spotted his clothing.

"Weakling!" Nayo hissed. "When I finish with you, Plum Creek will be mine, but I will not finish with you quickly. You see, I am enjoying this."

The battle waged on, with both of them silent, fully focused on the blows they were trading. But Nayo's long, taxing hours of physical training gave him the upper hand. He reveled in Spock's pain, and tasting blood, escaped a nerve pinch as Spock's fingers dug impotently at the shoulder guard beneath his shirt.

They fell to the ground together, grappling among the pine needles. In the corner of his eye, Nayo saw a stone—large and smooth, its dull gray surface projecting from the dirt. His lips twisted into a cruel smile, and he rolled Spock beneath him. Now the half-breed was pinned, and taking full advantage, Nayo used knees and fists with savage precision. He could see Spock losing strength.

"Beg for mercy!" Nayo taunted him, but perhaps Spock sensed that there would be no mercy for him or his family, so he struggled on, though with little effect.

Nayo beat him to the brink of insensibility. Then, with hands on the half-breed's throat, he slammed the back of Spock's head against the rock. And again.

Spock sagged into unconsciousness. The fight was over.

Nayo surged with triumph as he picked himself up. Standing over the inert half-breed, he savored the moment of victory before reaching for the holster under his shirt. _It was empty!_

Here was trouble. The burst of phaser disintegration was vital to his plan—a clean kill, leaving no evidence of the half-breed's body. Turning, Nayo commenced to scan the ground for the missing phaser…and came face to face with the red-haired woman.

His phaser was in her hands.

With astonished fury, he watched T'Naisa's finger tightening over the trigger. _How could this be happening?_ He had considered Spock foolish for meekly joining him in the woods, but as the phaser beam streaked toward Nayo, he saw the bitter truth, that in his own way, he had been just as foolish. The driving force of his own passions had been his undoing.

Spock hovered on the painful edge of awareness, unable to move, yet hearing each and every sound. A phaser discharge, the collapse of a body, hurried footsteps rustling the pine needles as someone approached him. Even without seeing her, he recognized T'Naisa, and concern for her safety and that of Tess spurred him toward consciousness.

"Spock…" A hand settled gently on his shoulder. "Oh, Spock…"

He cracked one eye open; the other was too swollen. He found T'Naisa on her knees, phaser in hand. Her left arm rose to her mouth and she began speaking into her wrist phone. "Emergency…we have an emergency!"

Spock glimpsed his Vulcan assailant lying disabled on the ground, and said, "No, T'Naisa!"

He tried to rear up, and failing, winced with pain. He had taken a formidably beating, but his bones were intact and he did not seem to have any life-threatening injuries. "No," he repeated, "I am alright. As for our guest, I want to question him before calling the sheriff."

Looking doubtful, she cancelled the call and helped him into a sitting position. He used the Vulcan mind rules to sublimate the discomfort, then took the phaser from T'Naisa. He saw at a glance that it was Starfleet issue—an outdated model, but nonetheless deadly. It only added to the mystery at hand.

"Get rope," he urged his wife. "Hurry."

She sped off, and fighting dizziness, he struggled to his feet. He could feel blood congealing on his face, feel it dripping from a wound on the back of his scalp, but he turned all his attention on the stranger. The Vulcan had fallen awkwardly, with his bearded face in the dirt, but Spock remembered the chilling quality of his brown eyes, so full of hatred yet so hauntingly familiar. It had put him in mind of his uncle, Sparn, in the days before Sparn came to know Yanash. Sparn, only younger and less disciplined.

T'Naisa returned with a length of rope and they trussed the man, hand and foot. Spock felt a measure of strength returning. Together, they lugged their prisoner into the tack room that adjoined the small stable, and laid him on the floor. T'Naisa fetched a wet cloth and used it to wipe Spock's face and staunch the cuts on the back of his head. Then she used the same cloth on the stranger.

Though Nayo was now awake, he gave no indication of it. He had been trained to lie motionless in enemy territory and appraise his surroundings before revealing any sign of consciousness. Judging by the odor, he was in a building near the stable, with his side pressed against a hard floor. His hands were drawn behind him, bound tightly with rope that pinched, and his ankles were likewise secured.

Nayo's head throbbed ferociously and his stomach churned as he listened to Spock and T'Naisa discuss him.

"Plum Creek will be mine," Spock said, puzzling over Nayo's words. "This man was not just out to harass Yanashites. He somehow intended to take our property."

"He intended to _murder_ you," T'Naisa remarked. "When I picked up the phaser, it was set to kill."

"He very nearly succeeded. If you had not come…"

"Tess saw you look toward the creek and head into the woods. I thought maybe you'd seen something interesting, and I was curious."

"A human trait that we share," Spock noted. "I have often found it quite useful—none more so than in your response today."

The words reminded Nayo that Spock's wife was also a Vulcan-human half-breed. Their banal conversation chafed at him even worse than the rope. In Spock's place, he would not waste his time talking to a female with her alluring beauty. There was a more pleasurable way for men and women to commune, though Nayo had enjoyed precious little of it.

Thinking of his lost opportunity, a helpless anger roiled in him. The stink of horse excrement intensified the phaser sickness, and he was forced to vomit.

Spock sent T'Naisa back to their daughter, and Nayo knew he was alone with him—alone with the man he had tried to kill. What would happen now? Spock called himself a Yanashite, but any man might take revenge, given an opportunity like this. Inwardly, Nayo braced himself.

"So," Spock said in a level voice, "you are already back with us."

With fear sidling through his sick belly, Nayo opened his eyes and looked upon Spock's battered face. He had allowed Spock to best him. Unless he could escape, there remained only one course of action acceptable to the League. Suicide was the duty of every operative who fell into enemy hands—but thus far, Nayo had not strictly adhered to duty.

He wondered what had become of the phaser. He wondered what sort of pain Spock was enduring. How clearly could the half-breed think after the beating Nayo had given him?

"My hands…" Nayo said in a play for sympathy. "The binding is too tight."

Spock did not move from the stool where he was sitting. "Who are you," he asked, "and why did you attack me?"

Nayo hesitated and took on a shamed expression. "My name is Storn. I came in the hope of entering your seminary, but when I saw the gold…" He choked off the words convincingly. "Forgive me, I have sinned."

Though Spock continued to stare at him, he made no remark about their resemblance. The beard and the marks left by fighting made them look less alike.

Slowly Spock shook his head. "I don't believe you."

"It's the truth," Nayo insisted. "I am Yanashite. I came seeking the priesthood, but greed overpowered me."

"You came seeking the priesthood with a phaser?"

"For protection. There are bears in the forest, and cougars."

Spock's good eye narrowed with suspicion.

Nayo said, "Touch my mind and you will see that I am telling the truth." Having said it, his mouth went dry and his heart pounded wildly. Here might be another chance. If Spock entered his mind, Nayo might impose his own will upon the half-breed, forcing Spock to release him. And then…

Nayo would kill him swiftly, this time.

Nayo's eyes pleaded most innocently until Spock rose from the stool and came over. Favoring his ribs, the half-breed dragged Nayo away from the soiled spot on the floor and sat him against a wall. Then dropping onto one knee beside him, Spock paused for a moment of recollection before touching Nayo's face…

At first, Spock's cautious probing brought no real surprise. Beneath the veneer of falsehood, he quickly discovered that Storn was no Yanashite. The stranger's effort to conceal his true identity did not fool Spock. Evil lurked in this soul like a coiled snake.

Instinctively Spock reinforced his mental shielding, and just in time, or the stealthy fang-thrust of Storn's mind might have disabled him. The psychic burst spewed such strange memories and venomous thoughts that Spock shrank back from the meld in horror. He lost his balance and landed on one elbow. For a long moment he remained frozen there, struggling to process the glut of information as the prisoner richly cursed him in both Vulcan and Standard.

The man twisted his legs around and landed a fierce kick. Numbly, Spock rose and backed away, his attention riveted on the bruised yet hauntingly familiar countenance.

Then, for the first time, he said it aloud. "Nayo. Your name is Nayo…and you are my brother."

oooo

"Your _brother!"_

Spock met T'Naisa's disbelief with an outward show of calm. They were standing in their bedroom behind a closed door, and Tess could be heard playing the piano. For Spock, the sound of that particular passage of music would be forever linked to this moment.

"Yes," he said, hardly believing it himself. "My brother—my identical twin brother."

T'Naisa was not ready to accept it. "Spock, a face can be surgically altered. False memories can be implanted—I once even did that myself—and you paid the price for it."

He shook his head. No. Apart from the memories, he had seen something more, something of himself that would have convinced him even if he had not run the confirming tricorder scan. Something of himself, blurred and distorted like a reflection in a damaged mirror.

"No," he said with grim certainty, "this man is truly my twin. Sarek once said to me, 'You should have died with your brother'. At the time, I thought he meant my half-brother Sybok. Now I know he meant Nayo." And Spock told her what he had learned of their birth.

Following an ancient custom, his mother Amanda had delivered him in the birthing caverns of Talek-sen-deen, assisted only by a clan midwife. Immediately after entering the world, Spock was presented to Sarek, who expressed dismay at the lusty cry that made the newborn seem so human. While Sarek held Spock, Amanda delivered a second time. This boy was quiet—too quiet—and she scarcely glimpsed the dark, still body before it was whisked away for medical care. Before long, the crushing news came. Spock's twin was stillborn.

Vulcans did not cradle dead newborns in their arms or even look upon them. They did not give them names or even record their births. Sarek ordered the body cremated and personally scattered its ashes in the desert wind. Henceforth he would not speak of the child, and since Amanda was studying the Vulcan disciplines, she too kept silent. Though her heart must have ached for her loss, it was a private matter that she discussed with no one—certainly not the surviving boy, who would be reared in the Vulcan way.

But unknown to Sarek and Amanda, the twin had lived. The ashes Sarek scattered were from a slain animal. Black League agents had seen an opportunity and rushed the infant to a secret location where a diabolical program was underway. There, along with other "stillborn" children, the boy was educated in matters that would serve their vision of Vulcan's future. The League dealt in deception, intrigue, and destruction of the status quo—all those dark but politically useful arts that most Vulcans no longer considered civilized.

The twin son of Ambassador Sarek was a singular prize. Someday, when Spock assumed the role of ambassador, a double would be invaluable. But when Spock defied his father and entered Starfleet, it had seemed for a time that all Nayo's training was for naught. Spock's prominent role in the Yanashites changed everything, and after accumulating the necessary knowledge, Nayo was sent to embarrass and discredit the new religion by impersonating Spock.

"Impersonate you?" T'Naisa's brown eyes shone with apprehension. "But he tried to _murder_ you!"

"Nayo acted against his orders—remarkable, considering the brutal methods employed by the Black League." Spock went on to tell her what he had glimpsed of the League and its operation, but there was much more to be learned from Nayo.

"It's time to call the sheriff," T'Naisa said.

Spock disagreed. "In light of these revelations, that is no longer advisable. This is not a matter for local law enforcement or even the immigration authorities. The investigation must be covert or the Black League will go to ground. I have a contact…"

oooo

That very day, a Federation agent arrived at Plum Creek, and a jolt of recognition knifed straight through Spock. Taken by surprise, he could only stand and endure the embarrassment as the half-Zaran's tawny eyes lingered upon his battered face. Close by his side, T'Naisa acted as coolly as any woman who felt her marriage suddenly threatened, for she knew that Sola Thane had once briefly shared his bed.

The present conversation centered on business. It was quickly established that Nayo would remain secluded on the mountain. A secure blockhouse was transported into the woods, a study little jail with living quarters for Thane, who would have full authority over the prisoner.

At the first opportunity, T'Naisa drew Spock aside. "Sola Thane!" she hissed. "Living right here! Why didn't you tell me _she_ was coming?"

Spock sighed. "I was advised only that the Free Agent would be someone known to me and Jim Kirk, providing a cover if she was observed."

"Some cover," T'Naisa complained. "Spock, I don't want her here. I don't trust those Zaran powers of hers. She made love to you! You even bonded for time!"

There was no possibility of denying the fact, even had it occurred to Spock. Vulcan marriage brought a sharing of memories that was not always convenient.

"The bonding was incomplete," he reminded her, "otherwise I could not have taken a wife. As for our…interlude, it happened only once, long ago, when I was feeling the effects of pon farr."

T'Naisa huffed. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? I saw the way she looked at you. And I saw you blush."

"With shame," Spock said honestly, but he could see that T'Naisa was still not satisfied. Drawing her close, he stroked her soft red hair and felt her relaxing. In a gentle voice he urged, "Forget the Zaran. Nayo is the issue here. When Thane finishes with him, she will leave. They'll both leave."

oooo

It was a relief to be free of the ropes. In the confines of his cell, Nayo took a turn in the sonic shower and donned clean clothes left by his jailer, who watched in silence through a transparent force field. The woman was as lithe and muscular as a feline, with a golden mane of hair that accentuated the effect. She moved with smooth, powerful grace, and though Nayo's life had been one of subservience and humiliation, he was still very much a man and he liked the sight of her. But from his studies, he recognized her as Zaran, so her psi-quotient would be higher than any Vulcan's. It meant she had the power to interrogate him in painfully intrusive ways.

Hour after hour she stared at him, her mane glistening in the hall light, until at last Nayo broke the silence between them. He bluntly asked her, "Do you intend to rip my mind?"

"For Spock's sake, I should," she replied, "but since you are his brother, I'll be as gentle as possible. However, don't believe that you can hold anything back from me."

At that she left him, but Nayo did not have long to wonder how she intended to carry out her inquisition. It was night when she next appeared, and he was resting on his bunk. He scarcely had time to notice the strange instrument in her hand before it paralyzed him. He lay utterly helpless as the force field disengaged and she walked up beside his bed.

"Now," she said, "we will explore the truth together."

oooo

Sola Thane kept to her business. It was Spock who found himself drawn to the deep shadows where the blockhouse stood, but not out of any attachment to Sola. He did not mind that T'Naisa accompanied him, for he had nothing to hide. He came only to look at his brother.

Nayo had shaved off his beard, and with the bruises fading, it was now easy to see they were twins. Spock thought of his mother— _their_ mother Amanda—who had died, never knowing that she had been robbed of a son. He thought of Sarek on Vulcan, who had denounced his association with the Yanashites, yet now spoke to him occasionally. What would Sarek make of this other son, reared as a criminal? This man was an uncle to Spock's children, yet Spock dared not tell any of them—not now, and perhaps never.

Each day Sola Thane uncovered new, horrific visions of Nayo's life in the secretive Black League. A clear picture was emerging, and already Federation operatives were at work behind the scene, preparing to move in and crush the evil at its source. As time went on, it seemed that the sessions might be producing another, unexpected, benefit. Through the steady process of mental extraction, Nayo had shown signs of positive change—if such outward signs could be trusted. He no longer seemed quite so arrogant and angry, and occasionally he even volunteered information that tested true when Thane looked into his thoughts.

Today she suggested to Spock, "The improvement might be due to catharsis. I've seen it happen before, but never in someone as troubled as Nayo." As she spoke, her eyes were on her prisoner and she said the name softly, in a way that took Spock aback. Remembering how his own name had once sounded on those lips, his face warmed. _Could it be? Could it possibly be?_

He looked at the two of them and wondered.

oooo

There was no way for Nayo to fool Sola Thane. The transformation within him had come about honestly, bit by bit, until there were times when he scarcely recognized his inner self. Though a part of Nayo still resented the Zaran's mastery over him, he had come to yearn for the moments when her mind entered his, neither judgmental nor dispassionate, but with a feminine tenderness unknown to him before now. Nayo knew that she loved Spock. She could not hide it from him, and the knowledge was disturbing. He felt uncomfortable in those rare moments, such as this, when Spock spoke to Sola without his wife present. Nayo saw how the hall light fell on Sola's golden mane as the two of them lingered outside the cell, talking quietly.

"Tell me," Sola was saying to Spock, "do you like being a Yanashite?"

"Yes," he replied, giving her but a fleeting glance.

"Your mountain is beautiful," she said, "and so is your wife."

Spock turned toward her with an appreciative expression that made Nayo's blood burn with something more than anger. Had Spock touched her, Nayo might have flung himself at the force field. He relaxed only after Spock left, and even then, not completely. His heart pounded hard, willing the Zaran to enter his cell, and she rewarded him with a look more needful than she had ever levelled upon him. And in that telling moment, the balance of power shifted.

Shaken, Sola abruptly left the blockhouse and strode deep into the woods. There was a decision to make, and it consumed her to the point where she neither saw nor heard the wealth of nature around her. Nayo's deep desire had reached out and touched her bonding center. Even now, she could feel him calling, tearing at her heart, putting an end to any semblance of professional objectivity.

From the beginning, there had been this danger; he was so like Spock. At first, the mental contact between them had aroused her pity, and as it continued, the wretchedness of his existence had moved her in other ways. But it was the thought of Nayo's young son that finished her—the miserable little boy born of lust and sentenced to life in the Black League, even as Nayo had been sentenced.

She had known of the child for a week, yet broke with interrogation protocols and kept the information from her superiors and even from Spock, who was the boy's uncle. It seemed a very private matter, between Nayo and herself. He had sired D'Gar soon after he began training for the Yanashite mission, and like all children of the League, this three-year-old now resided in a common nursery where beatings and indoctrination were the daily norm. The thought made Sola's heart weep for him and his father. What would become of them? One thing was certain: she had grown too emotionally involved to continue as Nayo's interrogator. But how could she abandon him to another?

It was a small sound, but Nayo noticed it at once and swiftly rose from his bunk. _Sola?_ No. A young, auburn-haired girl gazed at him through the invisible force field. And suddenly she began walking toward him as if the field did not exist.

"No, stop!" Nayo warned, and she obeyed. He explained, "You cannot see it, but there is a barrier between us, and it will hurt you."

Wide-eyed, Spock's daughter stared in confusion. "Daddy…?"

Nayo's mind raced. Mentally assuming the role for which he had spent his life preparing, he nodded. This halfwit child would be eager to help her father. Nayo's fortune had turned. Freedom was within his grasp.

"Tess," he said, pointing an impossibly steady finger, "there is a switch on that wall beside you. Push the red button and Daddy will come out."

Her eyes roamed over the area and found the switch. She went over to it. "Here?" she asked, reaching.

"Yes," he said, "just push it."

Tess pressed the switch, but when the field disengaged, an alarm sounded. As she covered her pointed ears, Nayo rushed out of the blockhouse and vanished into the woods.

The ringing of the alarm brought Spock and T'Naisa running to the blockhouse, only to find Tess standing inside, alone and frightened. As Spock silenced the alarm, Sola Thane emerged from the trees, and her cheeks flushed to find Nayo's cell empty.

T'Naisa confronted the Zaran. "Where were you? How could you let this happen? He might have hurt my daughter! He'd like to kill every one of us, and now he's on the loose!"

"You're right, this _is_ my fault," Thane acknowledged with an unusual degree of emotion. "There's no need for anyone else to go out there. I'll find him."

Spock's eyebrow climbed. It was not like the capable Sola Thane to walk off and leave a cellblock unguarded. She seemed restless and distracted, as if her mind was already focusing on the object of her search. Before his eyes, she took on the telling glow of a Zaran huntress.

"Very well," he said, as if any objection of his would have diverted her from an impending matehunt. He had no doubt that she would find Nayo and deal with him in the manner of her people. Then she would return him—either slung over her shoulder or walking at her side like an equal.

The assignment had gone badly and Sola was not proud of it, but just now only Nayo mattered. In her life there had been other men—both Spock and Kirk among them—but none to whom she could give herself completely. There was something different about Nayo, an untamed element that made his need for her all the more touching. From the beginning she had felt him respond to her overtures of respect, seen him rise from his misery, and discovered glints of goodness that the Dark Masters had been unable to extinguish completely.

But was he capable of loving her? Of loving anyone? And if he could not…

Knowing what a negative outcome would do to her, but no longer caring, she surrendered herself to the inevitability of matehunt. Pausing on the trail, she stripped off her outer garments, freeing her sensitive skin to seek out the direction of Nayo's call. Lonely and desperate it came, tugging at her bonding center. And then there was no stopping her.

Spock and T'Naisa walked Tess back to the cabin. The child was no longer crying.

"Daddy," she repeated yet again. At ten years of age, she had become quite talkative. "I did what you said. I pushed the button that made the big noise. Why did you go away and leave me?"

Feeling uncomfortable, Spock finally replied, "The man only looked like me."

"No, Daddy, it was you!" she insisted. "But you were wearing different clothes. Where did the little house come from? It wasn't there before."

T'Naisa shushed her. "Quiet, Tessie! You've caused enough trouble. I told you to play in the clearing."

Spock realized that T'Naisa was short-tempered from worry. She did not understand Zaran mating practices. "I believe," he said carefully, "that on some level Thane may actually have wanted…her guest…to escape."

T'Naisa halted beneath a towering old pine. _"What?"_

"It is the Zaran way." With Tess listening, he chose his words carefully. "Between men and women. They…make a hunt of it."

T'Naisa's eyes flamed. "With her prisoner? That's unconscionable!" Her quick mind reached an even more unsettling conclusion. "She…that woman…once hunted _you?"_

He would have preferred not to answer, but there was no avoiding it. "In a manner of speaking…yes."

For a long moment T'Naisa just stood there, considering. Then the tension went out of her body. "So it's Nayo she wants. But he's so…so…"

Tess tugged at Spock's arm. "Who's Nayo?"

He ignored her and told T'Naisa, "I did not foresee this eventuality, but there is some logic to it. Zarans also have a streak of wildness. There is no one better suited to take him on."

Twice Nayo heard someone coming through the trees, and veered off in another direction. The third time, he hesitated before moving on. His heart pounded with a strange certainty that his pursuer was Sola Thane. Inwardly torn, he happened upon a narrow trail and followed it to the brink of a cliff. Though there was ample time for escape, he stopped there, knowing that she would find him. In a matter of seconds she appeared, and the sight of her scant attire jolted him to the soles of his feet. In that instant he wanted her in a way that he had never wanted another woman.

Devoid of any weapon, Sola stepped toward him, her tawny eyes flaming with Zaran energy.

"Nayo," she said in an astonishingly tender voice.

Perhaps he could have overpowered her and claimed her body then and there, but for the second time in Nayo's life, he rejected the idea of brute force. It was not only her body that he wanted, but also her heart—as if a heart like hers could ever belong to him. No. She had come only to retrieve a prisoner, but he had no intention of returning to the cell.

Raising a hand, he warned her, "Stand back—I don't want to hurt you."

He was breathing hard now, for he realized how this must end. It was not in him to harm her; like his boyhood friend Kalen, she had broken through his defenses and touched his heart. He might not have said that he loved her, even had he understood what love meant. He knew only that she had become precious in his sight. Poised at the cliff, Nayo could not tear his eyes from her. This woman knew him from the inside out—the bitter dregs of his past and the glaring emptiness of his future. There was no possible way for him to win her, and logic offered but one alternative.

Nayo backed until the heels of his shoes found the rim. Pebbles broke loose and bounced down into the void.

At the sound of the pebbles, Sola's heart seized. "Careful!" she cried.

Behind him the mountain dropped off sharply, and distance made the nearest peaks almost as blue as the summer sky. She knew from the look in Nayo's eyes that he intended to kill himself.

 _"Don't,"_ she pleaded. There was no time for subtlety, but any word from her mouth might be the wrong one, sending him on the deadly plunge. "Nayo, listen. In the cell I felt you calling to me; I heard you as if you had spoken aloud. How else do you think that I tracked you so easily?" She showed him her empty hands. "No tricorder. I didn't need one, because my need for you was enough. We Zarans call it…matehunt."

The updraft from the cliff stirred his dark hair as he gazed at her.

"Come away from the edge," she pleaded. "Nayo, come here to me. I _love_ you."

The breeze sighed in the trees and she could see his mind working, could feel what it was costing the Vulcan to hold himself in check.

Tears welled in her eyes. "Nayo, do you hear me? _I love you._ If you step over that cliff, I'm going along."

For Nayo, it was more than the words. He knew how easily one could manipulate language and facial expressions for the purpose of deception. He knew because he was a liar. But deep inside, he felt a growing connectivity to the Zaran that made him certain she was telling the truth. And with that realization came a fresh surge of hope. Yes, Sola knew him inside and out—yet she loved him even more than Kalen had, for she was willing to die for it—to die for him.

Nayo stepped away from the cliff and slowly moved toward her. Reaching the Zaran, he crushed her close, and she returned the embrace fully. For the moment it was enough just to feel her smooth, soft skin and lithe muscles.

In his arms, she whispered, "You understand then; you know what this will mean?"

He gave her a searching look and asked, "Do _you?"_

She answered him with a searing kiss before they moved into the trees. There, in the privacy of the woods, she welcomed his advances. If she thought him rough, she did not complain, for as Nayo soon discovered, the strength of a Zaran huntress was enough to challenge even an operative of Vulcan's Black League.

Dusk was settling over the land when they found their way back to the garments Sola had discarded along the trail. Nayo watched her cover up, then took his rightful place at her side. As they walked toward the blockhouse, their minds remained linked in a pleasant way that would last until death parted them. Knowing that Sola Thane had chosen him and him alone as her life mate, Nayo stood tall.


	2. A New Day

Chapter 2: A New Day

Enjoying his new status, Nayo watched Sola Thane rise from the bed they shared and disappear into the shower. Simply made of two bunks pushed together, it served their needs well enough…for now. They were awaiting instructions from Federation Headquarters before moving out of the blockhouse. The authorities had accepted Nayo's pledge of full cooperation. In exchange for immunity from prosecution and permanent asylum on Earth, he was divulging everything he knew about the Black League. Nayo fully realized that he had Sola to thank for his freedom. Her reputation as a Federation Agent had a way of opening doors, even the door of a prison cell. Yes, he was truly free…with Earth as his home! Each time the realization struck him, it seemed fresh and wonderful.

Energized, he leaped up, wrapped himself in a colorful robe, and headed down the hallway. He scarcely glanced at his old deactivated cell as he went by. It belonged to the past, just another unpleasant episode in a lifetime of bitter experiences. Reaching the outer door, he threw it open and stepped into the dirt with his bare feet. The cool morning air sent a delicious chill through him, and for a time he just stood there inhaling the good pine fragrance as he listened to a cacophony of birdsong. Moving only his eyes, he searched out each sound and tried to pinpoint its source. Branches stirred and there were bright darting motions as the little creatures foraged. Earth's staggering abundance of life contrasted sharply with the desolate Vulcan compound where he had passed most of his days underground, denied even a glimpse of the scorching barrens.

Turning from the dark memories, he went back inside. Sola had dressed and procured two cups of coffee from the food replicator. Nayo joined her at their small dining table and sipped the sweet, cream-colored beverage while considering his breakfast order. On Vulcan there had also been replicators, but not for his personal use. The masters had determined both the daily menu and whether or not you would be allowed to eat. Now and then they had given him vegetarian Earth food so that he would grow accustomed to it, like Spock. But soon after arriving at Denver, he had sampled meat and greatly enjoyed its flavor.

Reaching over to the tableside replicator, he keyed up a plate of fried chicken.

Sola laughed. "For breakfast?"

Nayo reacted with a stirring of anger. "Don't speak to me about the 'dictates of custom'. I will eat when and how I please."

"You're right," she amiably agreed, and ordered some chicken for herself.

They ate in companionable silence, stripping the meat from each bone like hungry carnivores, sharing themselves in the imperceptible manner of bondmates. When Nayo finished, he sat back and lit a cigarette from a pack on the table, exhaling the tobacco smoke so that it curled freely in the air. This he had also sampled in Colorado, a thoroughly illegal indulgence which his jailer had denied him. But now that Sola had become his bondmate, she tolerated the practice.

Watching him, she said, "Smoking suits you…and so does that gaudy robe."

He glanced down at the brilliantly striped wrap she had given him. Sola knew how he hungered for color; blue, orange, maroon—the brighter, the better. The robe helped him forget the decades of drab clothing in an equally drab environment. He wanted more garments like it.

He was finishing his cigarette when Sola's padd pinged. The call was from Federation Headquarters, and as Nayo listened in, his initial surprise at their orders gave way to excitement. To allay any Black League suspicions, he was to undertake his original mission…immediately.

Sola completed the call and studied him. "There's a wicked curl to your lip. You are going to enjoy this, aren't you? Impersonating your brother and making him seem like an utter hypocrite."

A hot spark of rage brought Nayo to his feet. The table turned on its side, scattering chicken bones and cigarettes. "You feel for _him!_ What now—am I second best? Is it Spock you really want?"

Even as he uttered the accusation, he knew it was untrue, but he could not stop himself. The bitter jealousy was beyond his control. Thankfully Sola understood, and her love for him made allowances for such volatile behavior.

Calmly gazing up at him, she said, "My concern is for you, Nayo. It isn't good for a man to hate his brother."

oooo

Spock had been relieved when the blockhouse left Plum Creek, along with its troubling occupants. He had hoped for an end to the tension that dogged him from the first moment he set eyes on Nayo. But now that he knew the reason for their departure, his hope for peace vanished. He had only just been warned of the impending charade, and the thought of what it would mean for him personally…and for the entire Yanashite Community…made him go cold. However short a time Nayo acted, damage would be done, and damage to one's reputation was notoriously difficult to repair.

T'Naisa bristled as she paced the cabin floor. "I can't believe what the Federation is asking! And by your own brother's hand!"

"It cannot be helped," Spock said. Logic told him it was true, yet the situation still rankled. "We must stand aside, we must remain silent or Nayo's performance will lose its effectiveness. The Black League must believe that he is following their instructions. Only then will they be caught unawares."

"Yes, but…" She stopped, her eyes large with worry. "Your family and friends will think you've taken a left turn to hell."

"Tell them that my medication may need adjusting. They will assume it is the Bendii Syndrome."

Unconvinced, she shook her head. "But Sorel…"

With a sigh, Spock thought of the Yanashite's spiritual leader. Sorel had placed him in charge of Earth's first seminary, and he was also an envoy to the Vatican—both positions of great responsibility. Now Sorel might wonder if Spock was falling away from Shiav, as he did after the murder of his first wife, and daughter Teresa.

Reaching inward for the strength of Yanash, he repeated, "The situation cannot be helped. Therefore, I suggest that we receive it as an exercise in humility."

oooo

It was growing dark when Nayo entered the tavern. This would be a good place to start—close to Spock's home, and frequented by his own neighbors. Just inside the door he stopped, feeling the air-conditioning on his fresh haircut as he took in the lay of the business. Off to one side, several young adults hunched over a row of holographic gaming tables. There was an open area where couples were holding one another close, slowly dancing to music.

Nayo turned his attention toward the bar. Two women sat some distance from one another—both of them young and attractive. Choosing between them, he settled in beside the blonde. She glanced his way, then turned for a better look at him. Her blue eyes widened with surprise.

"Spock?" she said.

Nayo tamped down a stirring of panic. _Did she know Spock personally?_ Well, he had been trained for this. His heart pounded as he met her gaze and waited for her to speak again.

"You _are_ Spock," she said uncertainly, "aren't you? From Starfleet…and that Yanashite settlement up the hill?"

"Indeed," he replied.

The conversation progressed as he ordered Vulcan shayo for himself and the young lady. Then, a second round. It was a strong drink, and by the time she had drained a third shot, she was leaning his way and her hands were on him. Fortified with counternol, Nayo only feigned a descent into deep relaxation. It was vital to the mission that he maintain control, for he could not risk any behavior that might lead to arrest. A single retina scan would put an end to this masquerade, and now that he was firmly into his role, he found it exhilarating.

Under the observant eyes of the bartender, he began to flirt with the inebriated woman in the manner of Vulcans. Now that he was bonded to Sola Thane, he limited himself to hand-play, which decent Vulcans enjoyed only in strict privacy. Its stimulating effect brought her onto his lap, and then she was pressing her mouth to his. Nayo allowed the kiss to deepen before gently drawing back. They rose from the barstool together—the blonde hanging on him in a way that made her desire clear.

There in plain view, he kissed her goodbye, "Until a more opportune time."

Even before the door closed behind him, his sharp ears could hear the tongues wagging.

oooo

The shapely little blonde was only the first in an unsettling string of women who began to contact Spock, seeking romantic involvement. Those whom he could not ignore, he rejected kindly but firmly. Some wept, while others cursed him in colorful, crude language. One encounter introduced him to an archaic word: cad.

"It's Nayo who's the cad," fumed T'Naisa.

News of the philandering Yanashite had reached the gossip columns, in turn triggering awkward phone calls from Spock's children. All of them wanted to know what was going on. Of course, Spock denied any such activity on his part. It was all that he could do.

A week later, T'Beth was back on the phone, and this time she was furious. Sitting down to the screen, Spock braced himself.

"Father, what's the matter with you? I thought you'd settled this issue of faith. I won't fault you for having doubts, but why did you have to spew them during a public interview?"

Spock sat silently before her, utterly humiliated by Nayo's sacrilegious antics. Given a chance to speak, he could only reply, "I don't know what to tell you." And leaving the phone, he went off and sat by himself, struggling to contain his emotions.

Later, T'Naisa joined him. Taking his hand, she said, "I talked to her…about the medication."

Then the phone began chiming again and did not stop until they silenced it. The interview had hit the mainstream press, and new reports continued to pour in. Nayo seemed to be everywhere at once, denouncing Yanash as a fraud, issuing statements from studios and barstools while reporters hung on every deceptive word.

Sickened, Spock called the seminarians at their homes and issued a statement to them in a conference call. "I want to assure you that regardless of what you have seen and heard, my faith in Yanash remains unshaken. Ultimately you will understand what is happening, but in view of present circumstances, I have no choice but to keep the seminary closed. You will be notified when it is ready to reopen."

oooo

To Sola Thane, Nayo was a paradox. The secluded house where they lived had a garden surrounded by tall stone walls. It was from this rental in Colorado that he transported to his "worksites", slipping in and out, unseen. When not at his nefarious job, he spent hours fussing over each garden bloom, applying the horticultural techniques he was learning.

While each flower seemed precious to him, he did not care one bit about his brother. The daily assault of the press had become increasingly vicious. Now they were dredging up tawdry incidents in Spock's past to fuel the scandal: his behavior following the murder of his wife and daughter, and the infamous "Adrianna diary". Nayo clearly relished making trouble for Spock, and though it disturbed Sola, she understood the reason for his rancor. But D'Gar was another matter.

Sola stood in the garden sunshine watching Nayo trim a climbing rose. Its abundant pink blossoms contrasted sharply with his turquoise-patterned shirt. Quietly she moved close to him. She touched his muscular shoulder and he paused to look at her, clippers in hand.

"Nayo," she said, "I worry about your son. Don't you?"

His clean-shaven face hardened. "He has food and shelter."

"He has a name, too—D'Gar. You never mention him."

Nayo returned to his pruning—quick forceful snips that betrayed his irritation. Finally he said, "What purpose would it serve?"

"None," she admitted, "but you're his father. He deserves your love. At the very least, he deserves your attention."

His head swung around and his eyes were fierce. "No father gave _me_ any love!"

 _So that was it._ She did not remind him that his father had believed he was dead. But sometime soon when the truth came out, Sarek would likely reject Nayo, just as he had rejected Spock for lesser reasons.

Sola's heart went out to him. He could not love any child until he came to terms with his own wretched boyhood—and that would not be easy.

Softly she said, "I have nightmares about him. I wake up in the night and wonder what he's going through. If he's hurting…if he's hungry…if he's lonely and frightened."

The clippers snapped loudly in Nayo's strong hand, but he said nothing more.

oooo

Summer's heat declined, and autumn yellowed the plum trees along the creek. Aggressive reporters and hostile strangers regularly sneaked onto Spock's property. He had placed a security field around the gold at the crystal spring and mainly kept to the cabin, which had become a lonely place of exile. Simon no longer spoke to him, and relations with T'Beth were deeply strained. Only James made regular appearances, collecting gold for his Dreamcatcher boys' ranch out west, in a remnant of California. They mainly talked about that project, and James never stayed long.

One rainy day, Spock sat with a padd in his bedroom, reviewing the message that had arrived from Vulcan in August. Even before opening it, he had known what it meant, for the seal of Sorel was prominently displayed on the cover page. Since that day, he had been stripped of all duties affiliated with the Yanashite Community.

"In your place," Sorel wrote, "I am appointing Yosak as Vatican envoy, and the seminary will reconvene in Phoenix. I deeply regret the necessity for these actions. Whether your behavior is willful or out of your control, I cannot allow you to continue in any position of authority. As always, I pray for the health of your body and your soul."

"Spock!" T'Naisa's sudden outcry roused him. Setting his padd aside, he went into the living room, tense with the expectation of more trouble.

Tess sat close beside T'Naisa on the sofa, quietly playing with a doll. The viewscreen on the wall was broadcasting news.

T'Naisa jumped up and pointed at it. "Look! It's over!"

Spock turned his attention to the screen. Squads of special Federation forces were breaking down doors and seizing criminal Vulcans from an organization called the Black League. For the first time he saw the compound where Nayo was shaped into a lawless operative. A sterile nursery came into view, with frightened children scurrying like _k'nurts_ into the shadows. Then downtown ShiKahr, where dark tendrils of the League reached into the upper levels of government. The reporter began telling the story of the disbanded Vulcan High Command, some elements of which had survived to create the Black League.

Suddenly a picture of Nayo appeared in one corner of the screen. Blameless victim of the League, "stillborn" son of Ambassador Sarek, courageous informer. Nayo's impersonation of Spock was now recounted in detail, amidst glowing praise.

The scene cut to a press conference at Federation Headquarters in Paris. Dressed in an expensive suit, Nayo stood with the officials and fielded a stream of questions, flagrantly promoting his new image as a hero.

Tess glanced up from her doll and noticed him. "Daddy! Look Daddy, it's you!"

"No," Spock said softly. And for the first time he told her, "That is your uncle."

T'Naisa rose from the sofa and putting her arms around him, sighed. "It's over."

Considering the mindset of his brother, Spock wondered.

oooo

Applause rang in Nayo's ears as he turned from the podium and headed out of the pressroom. Sola rushed forward and they shared a lingering kiss.

"Good job," she whispered, but he did not need her praise to convince him.

As they walked hand-in-hand, he smiled thinly and tipped his head at the many well-wishers, reveling in their attention. The glow of excitement lasted all that day, but with the coming of night it dissipated, leaving his heart almost as restless and unsatisfied as ever. The thought of Romak safe and comfortable in a Vulcan cell angered him. Romak deserved to suffer as he had made Nayo suffer—long hard years of pain and humiliation. At the very least, he deserved to die.

With the rising of the sun, Nayo knew that he must pay Romak a visit, if only to curse the Dark Master to his face. Sola had a covert assignment pending and it was just as well, for this was a matter that he preferred to handle alone.

After breakfast he lit a cigarette and told her, "I'm going to Vulcan."

She reacted with surprise and pleasure. "You're going after D'Gar! Yes, that's better than waiting around for the Vulcans to send him. The boy needs you."

Nayo did nothing to correct her misperception. While on Vulcan he would see to D'Gar, but he did not want the little snarth. He had no intention of bringing him back or of meeting his father the ambassador, who was sure to reject him. Let Sarek have the creature; after all, it was his grandson.

oooo

Word of Nayo's impending journey reached Spock by way of Sola Thane. Her phone call was brief and astonishing.

"Did I hear you correctly?" Spock replied. "You want me to follow Nayo around Vulcan? If you don't trust him, go yourself—after all, he is your husband."

Sola explained why she could not accompany Nayo, frankly admitting, "Although he has made progress, he can still be…unpredictable."

"'Unpredictable' seems rather a mild term," Spock said with some sarcasm. "He came close to killing me. What makes you think he won't try again?"

For that, she had no convincing reply. At first Spock refused her request, but an hour of serious reflection made him reconsider. Though T'Naisa was not entirely pleased, he called Sola back and informed her that he had his own reasons to keep an eye on his brother and would accompany him, after all. Come what may, he would see that Nayo had no chance to play masquerade on Vulcan.

oooo

Nayo emerged from his berth on the starliner, and choosing a seat on the observation deck, settled into it with a padd. Though he appeared to be engrossed in a bestselling thriller, his attention was mainly elsewhere. There was a sense of being watched that made his neck tingle. It was not the first time he had experienced the feeling since coming aboard ship. Perhaps its source was only a curious passenger. Spock was certainly well known, and Nayo's own face was still in the news. The trim goatee that he had regrown might not fool everyone.

It was a second possibility that made him tense and vigilant. He had studied the arrest sheet, and not every League operative had been caught. Some of those who remained free would like to see him dead.

Nayo used the decorative mirroring on the walls to monitor the activity all around him. The fact that he could see every passenger clearly did little to allay his worries. Even a human could be in the pay of the League—perhaps a bigoted member of CUE, happy to eliminate a Vulcan of his reputation. But the Federation knew he was a target for renegade operatives. They would have their own agents on this liner, keeping a close lookout, hoping to make an arrest. Even now, they would be watching over him. No wonder he felt so exposed.

Rising, he pocketed his padd and headed into the dining room. It was the dinner hour, and all but one of the tables were occupied. As he moved toward it, a person overtook him, and they arrived at the table together. Wordlessly the man slipped into the far chair and looked at him, grim-faced, his Vulcan eyes narrowed and challenging.

Here was a mirror of another kind, and it shocked Nayo with an abrupt seething fury that was difficult to control. Nonetheless he did contain it, for this was a public place, not suitable for the sort of greeting he would have liked to give his esteemed brother.

"Sit down," Spock's baritone voice ordered, "and hear what I have to say."

"Like hell," Nayo responded in an identical tone.

Spock slowly released a deep breath and said, " _Please."_

Relenting, Nayo lowered himself into a seat and growled, "Why are you following me?"

A waiter came, but Nayo waved him off.

Spock said, "Contrary to what you seem to think, I am not your enemy."

"I have never said that you are," Nayo replied.

"Yet you detest me."

"I suppose you would claim to _love_ me?"

Neither of them denied their hard feelings. The air between them crackled with hostility.

At last Spock said, "I had no way of knowing that you existed. If you had come to my door like a civilized man…"

"Instead of ambushing you like a savage?" Nayo placed his hands palm-down on the tablecloth and leaned toward him. "You sicken me with your soft, hypocritical ways. Say it. Say the truth. These past months I've humiliated you, and you would like nothing better than to go for my throat and choke the life out of me."

Spock's eyes glinted dangerously. "Your behavior has been worse than humiliating—it has been blasphemous. If you are planning any such trouble on Vulcan, be forewarned: I intend to monitor your every step."

"Then follow closely," Nayo snarled, "so the assassins will target your back instead of mine."

Spock rose and left the room, but Nayo's appetite was spoiled.

oooo

On Vulcan, Spock kept Nayo in sight at all times. He dared not leave his brother for a visit to Seleya, but Sparn traveled from Tareel and they spent a day together, finishing at a restaurant while Nayo dined at a separate table. Nayo was clearly annoyed by Spock's persistence, and had placed his back to them.

"So like you," Sparn said. "I want to meet him."

"He is best viewed from a distance," Spock warned, but Sparn rose of his own accord and Spock felt obliged to accompany him.

Though Sparn was growing frail from age, he carried himself with dignity. As he reached Nayo's table, the bearded Vulcan looked up, his expression stony and unwelcoming.

Sparn inclined his gray head. "Greetings. My name is Sparn, and I am your uncle."

Nayo sneered. "Should that matter to me, old man?"

Anger made Spock stiffen. "My apologies, Uncle. Operatives of the Black League respect only the lash."

Nayo bolted from the table, his face contorted with a rage aimed directly at Spock. "Shut up! Another word—just one more—and I'll kick you and this doddering old fool half to death!"

Spock felt more than ready for the challenge until Sparn tugged at his arm. It was all the reminder that he needed. With a bitter taste in his mouth, he raised a hand in surrender and backed away, taking their uncle with him.

That evening, with Sparn safely back at Tareel, Spock kept vigil over the room where Nayo was resting. He dared not let down his guard, even for a moment. There would be little sleep for him until Nayo left Vulcan.

In the quiet of the night, he analyzed the explosive response his mention of beatings had provoked. He, too, was acquainted with the lash and its psychological scarring, but Nayo's trauma went far deeper. When Spock entered Nayo's mind at Plum Creek, he had glimpsed some of the horrors imbedded there. Every day the press carried new tales of abuse at the Black League compound where Nayo grew up. And now, not for the first time, Spock pondered how it might have been him at the compound, instead of Nayo. If as a newborn he had not breathed at once, if Nayo had emerged from the womb vigorous…

Spock's mind shrank from the thought and turned toward a less painful musing. What if they had both been born healthy and were raised as brothers in the same home? Yet even this thought held sorrow, for it was nothing more than a dream.

oooo

Nayo did his best to ignore Spock's shadowing presence as an escort led them deep into the high security cellblock at ShanaiKahr. They were underground at a depth Nayo estimated at twenty-five meters. Being back below the surface of Vulcan made him break into perspiration. There was a nagging fear that this was a trap and at any moment a door would lock shut, leaving him to languish here forever. Only the thought of Romak drove him onward, but as they reached the cell, all trace of fear left him. Oblivious to the guard, forgetting even Spock, Nayo moved in close to the transparent force field.

How small Romak seemed now. Stripped of his master's robe, he seemed shrunken—an inconsequential little man in bland prison coveralls.

Nayo glared at him, unaware of his own hands knotting into fists. Consumed by a poisonous hatred, he shouted, " _Pekh!_ They have you now, don't they, you stinking child murderer!"

Romak rose from his seat and coolly confronted him. "Nayo—a spineless traitor with the face of an _oluhk_ —an _oluhk_ burrowing through the filth, waiting to be crushed under a heel. Best keep an eye over your shoulder, half-breed."

Though Nayo trembled with the desire to throttle him, he was reduced to trading insults. "An _oluhk_ , you say? Well, given a chance, this _oluhk_ would gnaw you to the bone!"

Romak laughed, and the cruel humorless sound made Nayo fling his body at the barrier. The stinging field jolted him backwards, but someone caught him as he fell. Shaking off the effects, he righted himself and wrenched free of the steadying hands, for they belonged to his brother. Turning away, he hurled himself down the passage. The black walls writhed with noxious memories that threatened to close in and suffocate him.

"Nayo!" Spock called from behind.

He ran even harder; not only to escape Spock and the Federation agents who awaited him outside, but in a futile effort to escape his past. Reaching the ground floor, he burst through an exit. There in the light of day he finally stopped to catch his breath.

Emerging from the building, Spock gave his brother some distance. Nayo needed time to recover, and for that matter, so did he. The scene at Romak's cell had moved him in unexpected ways. Today he had learned something important about Nayo and now he felt ready to learn more.

Nayo had entered a park where vine-covered trellises cast welcome shade over the public seating areas. Leaving a sandy path, he settled onto a bench and did not rise as Spock approached him, nor even when Spock sat at the end of the same bench.

Gathering himself, Spock said, "Now that you have seen Romak, will you also visit D'Gar?"

Nayo did not ask how Spock knew about the boy, for all the news services had carried the story. "No," he replied in a weary-sounding voice. "I want no part of him."

"But D'Gar is your son," Spock remarked.

Nayo shrugged. "A stirring of lust on a hot night."

"It matters not how the boy was conceived," Spock reasoned.

Nayo's dark gaze settled on him. "Could it be that _you_ want him? It would make you most saintly in the eyes of Sola Thane."

"Her eyes are not my concern," Spock retorted. "You are."

"And D'Gar?"

"He is _your_ son."

Nayo's lips thinned. "And so we have talked ourselves into a circle."

"But we _have_ talked, Nayo—almost civilly—which in itself is remarkable."

Nayo stood and began to leave, then hesitated. With his eyes on the scarlet sky, he said, "You must think I am an evil man."

On the bench, Spock responded with a question of his own. "Does it matter to you what I think?"

Nayo turned and looked at Spock. Eridani lay behind him, and shadows made his bearded face appear downright satanic. "No," he said. "I don't give a bloody damn what you think."

He had lied. It came easy for Nayo, far easier than it would have been to admit the truth. Strange, that he should care what Spock thought about him—strange and aggravating. All his life he had resented the pampered half-breed, but this Spock was not quite the man Nayo had expected. Unknown to Spock, Nayo had discovered a surprising thing or two in their one mind meld. Spock's childhood had not been so pleasant, after all. Regularly beaten by a great-grandfather, taunted by bullies, treated coldly by his father, yet embarrassed by his mother's human affection. Spock had suffered as a boy, and even later, as a half-caste adult. Only religion had brought him lasting peace—a peace that Nayo did not understand, yet could envy.

He reminded himself that he had his freedom now, even if ropes of resentment still bound him to the past. His relationship with Sola Thane was an anchor he could cling to, even if it did not satisfy him as fully as the Shiav satisfied Spock. What need had he of a God and savior? Now that he was rid of the Dark Masters, he would never bow his head again.

After a restless night, he rose with the grim intention of consulting an attorney in order to relinquish all claim to his son. Outside his door, he found Spock waiting. Wordlessly his brother held out a sheet of paper.

"What is this?" Nayo said with suspicion.

Spock's eyebrow climbed. "Surely you are able to read."

Snatching the paper, Nayo scanned the neat columns of Vulcan script. It was an official document, and though he did not understand the legal language, pride kept him from admitting it. " _Ka-roh-fee_ ," he said, hoping Spock would add something to clarify the term. "This says I am granted the right of _ka-roh_ - _fee_ on Romak."

Spock quietly studied him. "I thought you would appreciate the opportunity. Combat was an integral part of your formation."

 _Combat!_ Now Nayo understood. The document stated that Romak had accepted the challenge put to him on Nayo's behalf. Living among outlaws, Nayo had received little training in Vulcan's legal system, but he correctly surmised that _ka-roh-fee_ involved _mortal_ combat.

His fingers tightened on the paper and his heart raced. "You arranged this," he said, stating the obvious, for Spock's name was clearly listed as the sponsor. Yet the situation was far from clear. Spock was a Yanashite who believed in a return to love, not warfare. Why would he orchestrate a deadly battle? To give Nayo a chance for revenge? Not damn likely.

Looking hard into his brother's eyes, Nayo said, "I see. You don't have the stomach to kill me yourself, so you are hoping that Romak will do the job for you."

Gripping the document tightly, he strode away. Once again, he would fool Spock. He would kill Romak and live…and then perhaps he would kill Spock, too.

oooo

The site was ancient, a circular arena surrounded by crumbling pillars. In a spot much like this, Spock had once engaged in a combat of his own when his betrothed rejected him. Now he could only stand by, knowing that this battle was his own doing.

The crimson sky flamed as Nayo took to the field where Romak waited. The two men had stripped down to traditional breech-wrap. Their muscles rippled as they circled one another, poised for combat, trading insults.

"For Kalen," Nayo told his opponent, "and for myself, you sadistic misconceived—"

"Snivelling cur!" Romak countered. "Son of a malformed, sewer-lapping—"

Romak lunged in an asumi kick, but Nayo stepped aside, deflecting the blow with an outthrust arm. Nayo whirled, landing a chop to the back of Romak's neck. As Romak stumbled, Nayo's leg swung out, dropping him to the ground. In an instant Nayo was upon him, but Romak had turned face-up and was ready for the attack. The two grappled, muscles corded, straining hard to gain an advantage.

Spock watched from between the pillars, his stomach knotted with the realization that Nayo might die at any moment, and knowing that it would lie heavily on his conscience. This was his brother, and though Nayo suspected otherwise, Spock had arranged this fight with Nayo's welfare in mind. The cathartic effect of Vulcan combat was scientifically documented.

Spock held his breath as Romak rolled Nayo beneath him and fought to grasp Nayo's throat. Suddenly Nayo threw him, and Romak scrambled out of reach. They both sprang to their feet. Sand clung to the perspiration on Nayo's body, but Romak's skin was dry. The difference was one of genetics, highlighting Nayo's human half, which should have made him the weaker of the two. But Spock knew that bitter fury would supply Nayo with all the strength he needed…as long as he used it wisely.

The combatants were circling again, striking out with fist and foot, a punishing flurry of swift asumi blows. Nayo was holding his own when a subtle movement among the spectators drew Spock's attention from the arena. There were only a handful of observers—few modern Vulcans would find this spectacle pleasant to look upon. Yet now a new figure joined the group, her face hidden in the hood of a cloak, despite the heat. As Spock watched from the corner of his eye, he saw one slender hand reach beneath her concealing garment. His gaze flicked to the Vulcan male he had identified as a Federation agent. An assortment of Vulcans had been secretly guarding Nayo since his arrival at the spaceport, but just now the agent's attention was on the arena.

There were little more than two meters between Spock the newcomer. He moved quickly and arrived just as her hand emerged from her cloak gripping a Vulcan phaser. He did not wait to see where she would aim. A swift downward chop made the weapon discharge harmlessly into the sand. Then he wrenched the weapon from her. Seeing her plan thwarted, she tried to run, but he was quicker. The woman's struggles dislodged her hood, revealing cold dark eyes and wavy tresses that stirred a memory from Spock's mind meld with Nayo. This would-be assassin was D'Gar's mother.

Officers of the court relieved Spock of his captive. As they dragged her away, she spewed curses at Nayo. The combat monitor had called a temporary halt to the match, but defying all honor, Romak struck Nayo a surprise fist-blow, opening a gash on the halfling's cheekbone. Green blood ran from the wound, and Nayo countered.

Spock focused on the action. Nayo's injury had not weakened him; if anything, he seemed more determined than ever. Suddenly he whirled and kicked out at Romak's right shoulder. There was a sickening snap of bone. The Vulcan gasped and his arm hung useless. Though Romak wielded the other arm well, it was a turning point. Nayo's persistent attacks began to tire him, and Romak slowed under a pounding that left his face bloodied and swollen. As he staggered in the sand, the light of life seemed to fade from his eyes. Nayo's foot struck him a crushing blow over his heart, and he fell flat on his back, arms outstretched. He attempted to rise but fell backward, gasping for air, and did not try again.

For a long moment Nayo stood over him. Then he dropped to his knees and clenched his fingers in Romak's disheveled hair.

"For Kalen," he said savagely. "For Kalen…and for me."

And reaching down, he caught the master in one last hold and snapped his neck.

Now that the battle was over, something inside Nayo eased. The feeling was immediate—a sense of liberation, as if a heavy burden had lifted from his shoulders. With his own hands he had exacted a fitting punishment for a lifetime of injustice, and for child murder. But as he sat to receive medical attention, he knew there was an additional reason for his lightened mood.

His cheek wound stung as a healer cleansed it and applied the protoplaster. There might be a scar, but Nayo would not need it to remind him of this day—the day he vanquished his Dark Master, the day Spock saved him from T'Pela's phaser, the day Nayo first felt a faint stirring of trust in his brother.

Spock stood at a short distance, waiting until the healer finished and Nayo put on his clothes—drab garments suitable for Vulcan travel. Spock would have been comfortable wearing them, but Nayo hungered for a good splash of color and a lively atmosphere in which to celebrate his victory.

Approaching his brother, he said, "I am going to the tourist district and I intend to get drunk."

Nayo expected condemnation, but Spock answered in a mild tone. "Most unwise. There may well be other assassins on your trail. There is a Vulcan agent nearby, but even Vulcans can be distracted, as we have just seen. And do not depend upon me to protect you, for I am going to Seleya."

So Spock was leaving him. But instead of relief, Nayo experienced a peculiar regret. "I see. The combat disgusted you. I disgust you. Nothing has changed."

Spock neither acknowledged nor denied it. "Change comes slowly, brother. My leaving is a positive sign. It means that I have found reason to return a measure of the trust I perceive in you."

The words warmed Nayo like fine liquor. Perhaps he would not get so very drunk, after all. Working past his pride, he said, "In some ways, I had misjudged you…and now I find myself in an awkward position, for I am doubly in your debt. Not only did you arrange _ka-roh-fee_ , you also saved me from an assassin."

"…who is more than an assassin. She is the mother of your child."

Somehow, Spock's observation did not surprise Nayo. Spock's mind was sharp, and Nayo had briefly joined himself to it. He almost smiled now as he recalled the surprising toughness he had encountered. Strength of mind was something he could admire.

He felt no need to tell Spock how it had been for him and T'Pela on their sporadic occasions of intimacy. The child had been an accident of nature, brought to term only for the good of the League. Nayo had not participated in his birth, nor even named him. Like all Black League children, D'Gar had lived apart from both parents, in the common nursery. Nayo had never set eyes on the boy and had no desire to see him now.

Spock was cut from different cloth. Here was a man who had successfully raised three children to adulthood. Even the mentally deficient Tess was treated with patience and understanding. What more could Nayo want for his son?

Reaching a decision, he said, "You have spoken of D'Gar. If you want him, he is yours, for one thing is certain. I am not suited for fatherhood." Nayo saw an unwelcome stirring of sympathy in Spock's eyes, and it made him belligerent. _"Well?"_ he snapped.

Levelly Spock said, "I am agreeable…but have you considered Sola Thane's wishes?"

"Have you considered T'Naisa's?" Nayo answered testily. "Sola is _my_ wife and I will manage her. This decision is mine alone."

Spock looked as if he would have liked to comment on the challenge of managing a Zaran huntress, but thought better of it. He merely said, "Thane's career _would_ make raising a child impractical. I know from experience how prolonged separations can harm the parental relationship. As for T'Naisa, she possesses a strong mothering instinct and has expressed concern for the boy."

Nayo waited, tense with anger…and something very much like hope. Suddenly it had become vitally important that Spock accept the child and raise him far from Vulcan, in the lush mountains of Idaho.

"So it is decided," Spock declared, "but I will make it clear to D'Gar that I am his uncle, not his father."

Nayo gave a terse nod and started to relax. "As you think best, but if you must speak of me, do not burden the boy with my past. It is enough for me to bear it."

"When he asks questions, I will answer him…as gently as I can. Any child has a right to the truth."

Nayo tilted his head. "A Yanashite philosophy?"

"Truth is at the root of every viable philosophy…yet Truth also transcends it."

With a grimace Nayo said, "I can see that D'Gar has his work cut out for him. I shall make the necessary legal arrangements tomorrow. Good day, then, and good luck…to the both of you."


	3. Shadows of Turning

Chapter 3: Shadows of Turning

Spock's first sight of D'Gar triggered memories of young Saavik on Hellguard, where he found her running wild, fighting over scraps of garbage in the street. From an upper level designed for viewing, he looked down upon the large indoor play area where D'Gar was attempting to bully his Black League companions while the older and larger ones out-bullied him. Physically, D'Gar greatly resembled Nayo—and therefore Spock—but the long narrow nose was similar to his mother's, and his lips were full like hers. He would likely be a handsome boy if he ever stopped scowling.

The administrator of the facility explained that D'Gar would turn four next week aboard the starliner, during Spock's passage back to Earth. "We will provide sedation and intravenous fluids for the journey," he said. "I strongly advise you to keep the boy heavily medicated until you arrive at your destination. Otherwise, he will be unmanageable."

Spock needed no urging. He could well imagine the havoc such a child might create on a public starliner.

"He has been badly abused." The administrator spoke in the flat, emotionless manner of a traditional Vulcan. His tone grated on Spock, for it made him seem cold and uncaring. "D'Gar dislikes authority. His behavior alternates between abject fear and savage aggression."

Thus far, Spock had observed no signs of fear in the boy. Among his peers, he shoved and threw punches according to his mood, and in turn received his own share of blows.

"This was part of their training," the administrator noted. "Cruelty and combativeness were rewarded, while any sign of compassion brought swift, painful punishment."

Having seen such things in his brother's mind, Spock said, "They were regularly beaten."

"Severely, but in ways that left no outward scarring."

Thinking of the task ahead, Spock repressed a sigh. He must be gentle, yet D'Gar's behavior would demand an unwavering firmness. He had contacted T'Naisa, who looked forward to receiving the child, but they realized that D'Gar could not possibly share their cabin when he first arrived. On Earth, T'Naisa was currently securing a seminary room with private lavatory access and adding a second bed. There Spock would pass each night with the boy, and as many daytime hours as he could spare. At Seleya, Sorel had restored all of Spock's former responsibilities, but Spock would leave the seminarians at Phoenix for the remainder of this term. He set January as his goal. He could only hope that, by then, D'Gar would be sufficiently civilized to join the family.

oooo

Even before Nayo turned the handle of his front door, he felt trouble brewing. An inner sense warned him that Sola Thane was at home. Her assignment should have kept her away from Earth for another month, yet here she was…no doubt expecting Nayo to arrive with his son in hand.

Anticipating a confrontation, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Sola was on her feet, tawny eyes wide open and searching. "Nayo…I broke away early. Where is he?"

"Who?" Nayo asked, pretending ignorance.

"D'Gar! Wouldn't they let you take him?"

Nayo decided to speak honestly and suffer the consequences. "I gave him into Spock's care and took the first flight home."

Sola erupted. _"Spock?_ You gave your son to _Spock?"_

Nayo choked back a heated retort. Levelly he said, "I dispatched Romak in legal combat. It had been my plan to turn D'Gar over to the state, but after the fight I chose my brother, instead."

"Your…brother." The eyes that searched him seemed more confused than angry, now. "I'm not sure I've ever heard you call him that."

"He will provide a good home…a stable environment." And he admitted, "I am not fit to be a father. You know it's true."

Sola approached him with slow steps. Softly she said, "What I find remarkable is that _you_ know it…and are willing to say it aloud. Nayo…" Her voice grew tearful. "I wanted that child— _your_ child—but you're right. Spock and T'Naisa will do a better job of raising him than either of us. I have my career, and…"

Nayo pulled her into his arms and silenced her with an impassioned kiss. Then he finished for her, "We have each other."

oooo

Carrying D'Gar in his arms, Spock materialized in the seminary transporter booth. T'Naisa was there to meet him and get her first look at the sedated boy.

Tenderly she touched D'Gar's deceptively angelic face and said, "He's beautiful. How was the trip?"

"Challenging," Spock replied. "Out of necessity, he was diapered, and I fed him at intervals through a portable IV unit."

"Poor thing," she remarked, and Spock wondered if she meant him or the boy. Then she added, "Now the fun part begins."

Spock cast her a sharp look. "Fun? I do not think you realize the severity of his condition."

"Maybe not. But Spock, today a new door is opening for him. From now on, he's going to be learning new and wonderful things. Love, kindness, beauty."

D'Gar stirred. His eyelids fluttered open, then closed again.

"We must hurry," Spock said.

With a swift stride, he followed T'Naisa upstairs to the room she had prepared with sealed, shuttered windows and a coded electronic door lock. There, he settled the boy on a colorful patchwork bedspread.

"He'll like bright things," T'Naisa remarked. "At least, that's what Sola said…"

Spock straightened abruptly. "Sola Thane? You spoke to her?"

She nodded. "Sola said…that Nayo made the right decision…that D'Gar is better off with us. But there was a longing in her eyes, and it made me feel sorry for her. I know what it's like to want a child."

Spock looked down at his nephew, and was not at all sure that he wanted him. He held no affection for the savage boy, and the task ahead seemed daunting. But a Yanashite acted in accordance with a moral law that was not dependent upon emotion, and even more binding than logic. Therefore he would do what he could for the child.

Now D'Gar was awakening and Spock said, "Leave, T'Naisa. Leave at once and secure the door behind you."

oooo

Sola had been gone less than a week when Nayo's restlessness sent him out of the house. He was not a person much given to solitude, and now that the Federation had finished with him, he began to crave more stimulation than his flower garden could provide.

Discreetly trailed by an ever-present security contingent, he took his skimmer and flew into an old section of Denver, where a movie crew was filming outdoor scenes for a new adventure "flick". He found holomovies amusing, particularly in the manner they portrayed Vulcans, using humans with artificial ears and eyebrows. This production was no different. Dressed warmly against the crisp autumn air, Nayo joined a group of onlookers and watched the assistant director set up a street scene using stand-ins. He was there only a minute or two before an authoritarian human caught him by the arm. Instinctively, Nayo broke free and drew himself into a defensive asumi pose.

The fellow smiled. "Hey, you're good. Brought your own ears, too. Nice touch."

Nayo blinked and relaxed his posture. The man seemed too foolish to be a threat.

"My name is Gilford," he said, "and I work in casting. We could use you as an extra. Want to make a few credits?"

Nayo had scarcely nodded before the man pulled him into a wardrobe module and selected a costume from a rack.

As Nayo changed into the clothing, Gilford eyed him from different angles. "Did anyone ever tell you that you look a lot like those guys in the news? Spock and…and Nemo?"

"Some say there is a resemblance," Nayo conceded with dry humor. He was beginning to enjoy himself and wonder where this adventure might lead.

Gilford thrust a padd into his hands. "Hurry up…just fill this out…standard employment procedure. Gotta follow the laws, you know."

"Of course, we must be law-abiding." Nayo entered the required information and returned the padd.

Gilford gave it a glance…then stopped to stare. _"Nayo?"_ he read. "Previous employer…Black League of Vulcan?" His pale eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets as they fixed upon Nayo. "Hey, it's _you!_ I mean, you're _him!_ You're _real!_ Boy, oh boy…"

"Indeed," Nayo intoned in his best Spock-voice.

"We've never had a Vulcan before! Not a real one—not even a _half_ -Vulcan!"

"Then you had better made good use of me," Nayo declared, haughtily raising one slanted brow.

oooo

D'Gar had made little progress, or so it seemed to Spock. Each day was an ordeal. The child cowered under his bed whenever Spock was present, and though D'Gar made use of the toilet when Spock left, it was apparent that he never washed unless Spock dragged him to the bath. After suffering numerous bruises and three bites, Spock resorted to the Vulcan nerve pinch at bathing time.

In quieter moments, he tried to lure the child with toys and food, but D'Gar showed no interest in toys and ate only from a plate pushed under the bed. Gentle Vulcan words had no visible effect. Since young D'Gar had no experience of kindness, he did not trust it.

In an attempt to gain some measure of control, Spock experimented with a sterner role. "D'Gar!" he snapped.

When the boy ignored him, Spock lifted the bedframe, pulled him to his feet, and sharply commanded, "You will listen and obey me!"

Murder flashed in D'Gar's eyes, but he was standing still and he was listening.

oooo

A makeup artist had applied various products to Nayo's skin. His hair had been fussed over and sprayed into place. The fact that he wore it in a longer style than the movie "Vulcans" greatly disturbed the hairdresser. Nayo was told that his bangs did not "fall properly", and that his beard would "never do". But the film's director liked Nayo the way he was—"authentic". It had not taken long for Nayo to catch the director's eye, and having left the company of extras, he now stood on-scene among the human actors who were portraying a gang of shifty-eyed Vulcanoid villains.

Nayo was glad to have a beard. Aside from the warmth it provided, the trim goatee made him stand out from the other actors. It was said that "the camera loved him", and the more attention he received, the more resentment he sensed from the lead "Vulcan"—a fading actor named Calhoun. It seemed to Nayo that many of the performers were vain, jealous creatures. Calhoun's reaction amused him, and in his own small way, Nayo did what he could to secure even more attention for himself.

At the end of a chilly outdoor "take", Calhoun cast Nayo a dark look and growled, "Stupid ass! Who the hell do you…"

The glint in Nayo's eyes silenced him. In that moment, the Irish "Vulcan" seemed to remember that he was dealing with something more than a set of pasted-on ears. This was a real Vulcan—the same Black League Vulcan all over the news. By now, everyone knew Nayo's identity, including the producer who was starting to think in terms of the "box office draw" from a cast listing, "introducing Nayo". For that, Nayo would need to portray a credited character—he would need to recite lines—he would need to _act._ But no one thought Vulcans were capable of acting, and it was a bit late in production to be scripting a new character.

They broke for lunch and the actors filed into a nearby restaurant reserved for their use. Nayo sat well apart from the stars, but halfway through his steak, the leading lady approached his table. Charlotte Lothberg wore the uniform of the Starfleet heroine, and she was stunningly beautiful.

Rising, Nayo inclined his head in the Vulcan manner and said, "Miss Lothberg."

She smiled and offered her hand, but instead of clasping it, Nayo pressed his lips to the smooth, well-lotioned skin. Not a Vulcan custom, but quite enjoyable.

Blushing, Lothberg giggled like a schoolgirl, and in fact she was hardly older than one. "I…I just had to meet you. This is such an honor… _really."_

Nayo released her hand. "To the contrary, the honor is mine."

With a sigh, she hurried back to a female companion and whispered in her ear. The second actress turned and offered Nayo a seductive smile. And he thought, _This is indeed a pleasant way to pass time._

The assistant director called an end to lunch and as they headed outdoors, Calhoun edged in beside Nayo. "You think you're pretty smooth," Calhoun hissed, "don't you? Well, show up tomorrow and you'll be missing some teeth."

Nayo turned and looked at him. He did not understand Calhoun's usage of "smooth", but there was no mistaking the threat. Up until that moment, he had been content just to let events follow their natural course, but suddenly he'd had quite enough of this imitation Vulcan. It was time to show him what a real Vulcan could do.

oooo

If Spock dealt harshly with D'Gar, he used it only as a temporary measure and never resorted to any physical punishment. The boy had suffered enough abuse; that was the problem. Yet each time Spock tried gentler methods, D'Gar seemed to regress. Though the boy despised authority, he expected an authoritarian approach and seemed to draw a perverse comfort from it.

Spock knew the boy was waiting to be beaten. The expectation lurked in his watchful eyes. Had Spock struck him, D'Gar might have shown more respect, but the boy needed to learn a healthier form of respect. Over the course of their days together, Spock introduced him to music of a soothing nature. He brought a padd loaded with age-appropriate books and videos, and continued to offer toys as well—all items that should have interested any boy, but D'Gar huddled on his bed and refused to touch them when Spock was present.

Discouraged at the lack of progress, Spock decided to experiment with an entirely new approach. Coming to the foot of D'Gar's bed, he looked down at the child. D'Gar began to tremble.

Gently Spock said, "I am your uncle. Do you know what that means?"

D'Gar closed his eyes and began to rock himself.

For the first time Spock used his mind, subtly projecting the idea of an uncle, of blood ties, of the deep affection that bound a family together.

The rocking motion slowed.

 _"I am your uncle,"_ Spock said again, carefully forming each mental image. _"We are family. The members_ _of a family do not hurt one another. Adults protect children and guide them. Children trust and obey adults. They live together in a peaceful environment."_

D'Gar grew still and his eyelids rose. Spock's heart raced as their eyes met. There was contact between them. For the first time, D'Gar was truly listening. But did he understand any of it?

 _"I am your uncle,"_ Spock repeated. _"I am going to care for you and keep you safe. You can trust me because I will never hurt you. I am going to teach you many good things…"_

oooo

All his life, Nayo had trained for the role of impersonating his brother. As a result, he was an excellent actor both on and off-screen. He had no trouble concealing his amusement as Calhoun ruined take after take. The fellow seemed incapable of remembering his lines, and no wonder, the way Nayo kept intruding upon his simple little mind.

"Cut!" The director lost his temper and swore fluently. Then he jabbed a finger at Nayo. "You! Can you deliver a line?"

"I should think so," Nayo replied.

Beside him, the humiliated actor shook with outrage. "No frickin' way! If he talks, I walk!"

"Do calm yourself," Nayo coolly told him. "It is quite out of character for a Vulcan to shout."

Calhoun might have taken the promised jab at Nayo's teeth, but a fellow actor restrained him. A break was called, a scriptwriter consulted, and the Irish Vulcan reminded of his contractual obligations. Within the hour, Nayo was at his "mark" and the holocameras were rolling. The lines flowed from him with an ease that had the director grinning while sweat broke through the green-tinted makeup on Calhoun's face. The fellow was fast gaining a reputation as a "temperamental twit".

oooo

Spock entered D'Gar's room holding a doll. With wary eyes, the boy rose from his bed clutching a toy skimmer. So far, the use of direct mental influence had yielded promising results. Though D'Gar was still distrustful, he no longer displayed open hostility. And he had spoken his first word to Spock. "T'teer", which meant "Uncle".

Spock held the doll out to him. It was made to resemble a Vulcan boy with upswept eyebrows and eartips. D'Gar stared at it.

"He is a little boy," Spock said, "just like you. Do with him as you please."

Spock set the doll on the floor between them and watched D'Gar's face contort into a mask of fury. Abruptly D'Gar dropped the toy skimmer. His leg swung out and kicked the doll, sending it across the room. He ran after it. Dropping to his knees, he battered the doll with his fists, then slammed its head against the floor until it broke off. Even then he was not satisfied and continued the rampage, tearing away limbs and clothing, hurling them in all directions. His anger spent, he crumpled in a heap and did something entirely unexpected. He began to cry.

Stirred to compassion, Spock watched him struggle for control. In the compound, tears had been considered a sign of weakness and were punished severely. Using both mind and words, he said, _"Sometimes it is good to cry. I am your uncle. You are safe with me. I will not hurt you."_

D'Gar scurried into a far corner and began to sob and shriek like a wounded animal.

The sound affected Spock deeply. _"I will not hurt you,"_ he repeated, wondering if he dared approach the boy in such a state.

Some inner prompting drew him across the room. At his feet, the boy writhed in an agony of fear and sorrow.

 _"I will not hurt you,"_ Spock said again. And mentally bracing, he stooped down and touched D'Gar, very lightly, on the shoulder. _"I am your uncle. You can trust me."_

Spock tensed, expecting the boy to lash out. Instead, the thrashing eased—not all at once, but very slowly as D'Gar came to realize that this strange "uncle" might not strike him, after all. He had no experience of kindness, and though it still confused him, he found it good.

"There," Spock said, "that is better. Does my touch comfort you?"

He was still crying, but softly now, free from the worry of reprisal.

There came a sound at the door; it was T'Naisa leaving their dinner. Spock longed to join her and Tess in the cabin and escape this draining task, but D'Gar needed him. He brought in the tray and set the plates on the small table where D'Gar would only come to eat after Spock was finished and out of the way.

Spock sat down and took hold of his spoon. Forks and knives were too dangerous here. "D'Gar," he said, as always. "Are you hungry? I am waiting for you because families eat together."

D'Gar wiped his nose on his sleeve and blinked at him. Then to Spock's amazement the child rose, walked to the table, and perched precariously on the outer edge of a chair. With quick, suspicious glances at Spock, he began to shovel food into his mouth.

It was a day of breakthroughs.

They were in their beds when the first nightmare came. D'Gar's screams woke Spock and he was on his feet in an instant. The pounding of his heart subsided as he approached his nephew. The screams had come to an abrupt end and two frightened eyes glimmered in the shadows. Vulcans did not normally dream, but D'Gar had a one-quarter share of Grayson blood. Spock wondered how the Dark Masters had dealt with this sort of nocturnal disturbance.

He asked, "Did they beat you…for this?"

The boy's trembling shook the bed, and he burst out with his first full Vulcan sentence. "They tied me…they covered my mouth…they hit me."

Spock felt a surge of anger and restrained it lest the boy think Spock was angry at him. He sat down on D'Gar's bed. The child squeezed himself against the wall.

Using his mind, Spock said, _"That will never happen here. You are always safe with me. I will stay close tonight."_

He eased in beside the boy and they looked at one another. Then Spock closed his eyes, but with his mind he continued to impart calm thoughts. After a time, the quaking of the bed stopped and D'Gar's breathing took on the slow, even measure of untroubled sleep.

oooo

Nayo left the Denver shoot for a soundstage in Colorado Springs. Warner Brothers Studios had relocated there before Hollywood disappeared under the Pacific Ocean. With a solid role in the movie, Nayo was now a card-carrying member of the cast. News of his presence was generating a great deal of publicity and more than the usual number of celebrity chasers. During a break in filming, he signed his first autograph. He found it strange that anyone would want a piece of paper with his signature on it, but the attention was flattering.

Each day Nayo received additional lines, until his character overshadowed Calhoun's leading role. Nayo was both villain and hero—a betrayer of his Vulcan comrades, working secretly as an agent of the Federation. Yet something was missing from the story. He considered approaching the director and telling him outright, but having noticed that the director rarely appreciated suggestions from an actor, he chose a more subtle strategy.

While the assistant director was setting up a scene, Nayo began an asumi routine. Unoccupied members of the cast and crew gathered around him, watching the graceful, dancelike motions that would prove deadly at combat speed. Before long, the director joined them.

"What the hell is that?" he asked

Nayo inclined his head politely. "A slow form of Vulcan asumi, an ancient form of combat. It is still practiced for its disciplinary benefits."

"Must be murder on your body."

"Murder…yes," Nayo said with irony. He wondered what the director would think about his recent encounter with Romak. In the cinema, Vulcans were sinister but tame. Even the rigors of pon farr were gently handled and based solely on rumors, since the truth was buried behind a wall of Vulcan privacy.

The director was deep in thought. "This asumi—how does it look at full speed?"

Nayo motioned for the onlookers to give him room. Turning his back to the director, he abruptly reversed position and sprang into a lightning-quick sequence of moves that ended with his outthrust knuckles brushing the skin at Calhoun's throat. The actor recoiled in shock and came up cursing. There was laughter and applause.

Calhoun strode up to Nayo and shoved him, only to encounter a wall of Vulcan muscle from which he bounced back impotently. In a fury, Calhoun swung. Nayo lashed out, caught his wrist…and squeezed. The human screamed in pain. All this happened so quickly that the director only now began to react.

"Stop it!" he snapped. "Nayo, Calhoun—knock it off!"

Nayo maintained his crushing grip on Calhoun, but his mind was elsewhere. He did not like the director's tone; he did not appreciate it one bit, and that left him with a simple choice. Release Calhoun and break the director's bones, or swallow his anger and find another method of revenge—one that would further his budding career, not end it.

He let Calhoun go. Facing the director, he arched his right brow. "Did you like my performance? Something of that sort might be effective in this production."

Calhoun was rubbing his sore wrist and the spectators were saying, "Yes! Yes, a fighting Vulcan!"

The director gazed hard into Nayo's eyes, his forehead wrinkled with worry.

oooo

When Spock entered the bedroom, D'Gar came to him. It had been like this all week. Since the hour of the nightmare, D'Gar had tolerated Spock's nearness, conversed a bit, and showed other hopeful signs of emerging trust. Now, Spock dropped to one knee before him and looked into the boy's eyes. At times like this, he still used his mental influence.

Gently he said, " _D'Gar, I am proud of the progress you are making…"_ Unsure if the boy was ready for the next step in his development, he hesitated. Spock had grown fond of D'Gar and no longer considered him a grim duty. He was beginning to wonder if Nayo might take an interest in D'Gar once the boy became fully socialized. Would Nayo then decide that he wanted his son, after all? What would that mean for D'Gar? Nayo led a flamboyant, unpredictable life that always seemed to attract media attention. Hardly a fit environment for a child such as this. The boy needed a peaceful, quiet routine. He needed a father-figure who did not burst into frightening rages, and a mother who was always there when he needed her.

"T'teer," the boy said, and added, "Uncle."

Spock had taught him the Standard word. Hearing it spoken, he offered a faint smile. D'Gar smiled back in just the same way, but his eyes were sad.

Spock rose and extended a hand. For the first time, D'Gar took it willingly, and the simple touch gave Spock deep pleasure. He would build on this new success.

 _"Good,"_ he said. _"You are safe with me. Shall we see what is outside our room?"_

Though Spock had been carefully preparing the boy for this milestone, there was no way of telling what might happen when they walked out. All D'Gar's fears might be lurking there, ready to pounce on him.

"Come," Spock urged, gripping the small fingers firmly.

With his left hand, he deactivated the lock and opened the door. As they stepped through, D'Gar dug in his heels. Wide-eyed, he stared at the smooth, apricot-colored walls of the hall.

Spock used his mind as he spoke. _"See, it is safe here. I am with you. Come along with me."_

The boy moved at Spock's side, taking small, timid steps. They paused at the staircase, then started down. On the ground floor, the temple doors were open, and one could see clear to the altar. D'Gar sucked in his breath, for bright chrysanthemums from T'Naisa's garden and the flickering sanctuary lamp made a lovely sight.

 _"Let us go inside,"_ Spock suggested and D'Gar went with him, all the way up the aisle.

They stopped at the foot of the altar. D'Gar clutched Spock's hand and studied the icon portrait of Yanash, complete with bleeding wounds.

"Someone hurt him," D'Gar said in a hushed tone.

"Yes. Yanash knows what it is to be hurt." Spock placed his free hand on top of D'Gar's head and silently prayed.

"What are you doing?" the boy wondered.

"Asking the wounded Man to make you strong and contented. I did this on the starliner when we were traveling from Vulcan, but you cannot remember because you were asleep."

D'Gar stood very still and seemed to enjoy the quiet contact as Spock continued praying in a low chant. When it was over, D'Gar said, "T'teer…Uncle Spock…you will never hit me, will you?"

"Never," Spock promised.

oooo

There seemed no end to the sensational entertainment headlines. "Tempers Flare on Set of 'Starcrossed'". "Nayo's Premiere Role Anxiously Awaited". "Yanashite Brother in Seclusion". "Ambassador Sarek Declining All Interviews".

During a lull in filming, Nayo checked the daily news streams on his padd. Other actors used the time to study their scripts, but Nayo's eidetic Vulcan memory needed no refreshing. He knew precisely what the director expected of him in the upcoming scene, even if he did not like it.

Tucking his padd into the bland Vulcan suit his character wore, he walked onto the set, toward the seated director. An assistant was positioning stand-ins to prepare a pivotal scene in which Nayo would use asumi in a fight to the death. Young Charlotte Lothberg was his opponent, and she was supposed to kill him. Shaking his head in disgust, Nayo turned away. The director had risen, and now they faced one another.

"Problems?" the director said crisply.

They had been clashing over this scene all week. Though the director was not likely to change his mind, Nayo repeated his objection. "This is highly implausible. A weak human girl defeating a master of asumi? With her bare hands? The audience will never accept it."

The director drew in his breath, doubtless preparing a cutting retort about inexperienced actors who think they are technical advisers. Just then, a well-dressed woman walked up with her eyes fixed on Nayo.

She had overheard the exchange, for she said, "Nayo…given the chance, how would _you_ play out this scene?"

The director jerked his head toward the woman and reluctantly deferred to her. "Nayo," he said, "this is our producer, Madeline Krantz."

"Madam," Nayo acknowledged with a slight mannerly bow. "As I was saying, the scene is not believable. No human of Lothberg's age and physique could overpower a Vulcan asumi master. I suggest you bring in your largest man. Sorensen is 6'4". He holds me at phaserpoint and I knock the weapon from his hand. We battle, but the human is doomed to lose. Just as I am about to finish him, our heroine arrives, unarmed…but she notices the phaser on the floor and uses it to kill me. "

Madeline smiled. "Yes. Yes, I like it. We'll do it your way. Let's get to work."

As Nayo graciously inclined his head, he could hear the director's teeth grinding.

oooo

"Enough bookwork," Spock said, hoping the long hours of nature study had prepared D'Gar for today's project. "We are going outside."

"Outside?" D'Gar said uncertainly, and pressed in closer to Spock.

Spock could feel the boy's fear rising as they sat side by side on D'Gar's bed. Once again he employed the mental technique that had already proven so successful. He said, _"You will like it—the blue sky, the big green trees, and the animals. But first we must put our coats on, because it is almost winter and the air is cold."_

Together, they dressed for the adventure. D'Gar had become accustomed to the greater seminary building, but this was a new, daunting challenge for a child who had spent his life underground and craved the security of closed-in places. They walked downstairs and reached the main door. There, Spock picked D'Gar up. Holding the boy securely, he stepped out into the light of day.

D'Gar gasped and clung to him like a nervous cat, digging in his fingertips. Though the sun was bright, it held little warmth, and a crisp breeze stirred the branches of the pine trees. Birds pecked in the yard, and from over in the corral, T'Naisa's horse stood beside their burro. Sultan lifted his head and neighed a greeting.

"Look," Spock said, turning so D'Gar would get a better view of the gray Appaloosa. "I think the horse likes you. Soon you will let the horse and the burro carry you on their backs, and you will enjoy it as much as my daughter Tess."

D'Gar dug in harder. _"Rai!"_ he said gruffly. No _._

Spock turned again and saw Tess watching from a cabin window. "Look over there," he said. "That is your cousin Tess. Remember Tess? She is ten years old. I have told you about her and shown you pictures. I have told you about your Aunt T'Naisa, too. They live in that little house. When you are ready, we can all live there together."

"Rai," D'Gar insisted, but he had lifted his head and he was looking.

oooo

Sola Thane arrived home just as the early reviews of "Starcrossed" hit the press. Treated to a private screening, the critics raved over Nayo's "intense, understated performance" and the "fresh new realism" it brought to the industry.

Sola caught Nayo in her arms and kissed him passionately. "A movie star! I leave for one assignment, and suddenly you're a movie star!"

"Hardly a star," Nayo demurred, but her praise meant even more to him than the reviews.

It had been a lengthy separation, and an aching need for one another kept them occupied all afternoon. Following a quiet dinner, Nayo lay on the sofa and indulged in a cigarette while Sola scanned her backlog of messages at the phone desk.

Suddenly she said, "Look—here's one for you. It just came in from Warner Brothers."

"Probably a casting call," he said. "They're always looking for a token Vulcanoid. Open it, if you like."

Sola leaned toward the screen and sucked in her breath. "Nayo! Nayo, come quick! Look at this!"

Nayo sat up, tamped out his cigarette in the ash tray, and ambled over. Bending down, he burrowed his face into Sola's mane of golden hair and nibbled at her neck.

Squirming a bit, she laughed and said, "No, stop. You need to see this."

Nayo sighed and turned his attention to the screen. The message was short but gripping. Madeline Krantz was producing a new action film and she wanted Nayo for the lead. A crimson-clad Vulcan named Saten—an anti-hero. If successful, "Saten" could spawn an entire series of films.

Sola turned in the chair and grinned up at him, her eyes shining. "Saten! Oh, Nayo—you devil!"

oooo

Daylight streamed through the now unshuttered windows as Spock trimmed D'Gar's hair using scissors and a comb. The boy was fidgeting with excitement and Spock had no training as a barber, but he did his best to make D'Gar presentable. It was Christmas morning and if all went well, Spock would be back with his family tonight. A most agreeable prospect, but Spock tried to hold down his expectations as he worked the scissors. Though D'Gar was progressing nicely, there was no telling what might happen when they crossed the clearing and entered the cabin for the first time.

"There." He set down the comb and tucked the shears safely into his shirt pocket. "You are most handsome."

D'Gar smiled nervously, showing primary teeth that seemed small for his face. "I have a present? A present to open?"

Spock put on his coat and helped D'Gar bundle up. "Yes, a Christmas present and good food to eat. And Aunt T'Naisa, and Tess. The whole family together."

D'Gar no longer needed his hand held. They walked downstairs together. At the door, D'Gar burst out into the light layer of snow and ran straight for the corral. Sultan nickered at him and pushed his nose through the fence rail so D'Gar could rub it.

"Good boy," D'Gar said in the simple Standard words that Spock had been teaching him. "Good horse."

Spock started for the cabin and glanced back at him. "Are you coming?"

D'Gar scuffled his way through the snow, slowing as they reached the porch steps. Now Spock's touch would be needed, and the help of his mind, as well. But D'Gar's hands were buried deep in his pockets.

 _"You will like it inside,"_ Spock assured him. _"The cabin is warm…and Tess is here. You have waved at the little girl through the window. Now you can play with her."_

"Play?"

 _"Share toys and games, like we do."_

"And a present under the tree?" D'Gar questioned. "For me? Wrapped in pretty paper, like you said?"

Gently smiling, Spock held out his hand. _"Yes. Come and see."_

D'Gar's small fingers reached out. Walking close together, they entered the cabin. D'Gar stopped just inside the door and gaped at the colorful Christmas tree and all the presents under it. As his head swung around, he found T'Naisa and Tess watching him from the sofa. Spock could sense the boy's apprehension as they stood to greet him.

Carefully Spock said in Vulcan, _"D'Gar, this lady is your Aunt T'Naisa, and the little girl is Tess. I have shown you their pictures and you have seen them through the window. They will be kind to you. We will all be together, right here, safe in this cabin. I am your uncle and you can trust me."_

Tess had learned some of the Vulcan language and she thought her father's remarks were peculiar. Giggling, she said in the same language, "Hello, Digger. Want to play with my doll?"

Spock held his breath as she thrust the doll forward and D'Gar's free hand closed over it. Dolly Brown had long been her favorite. She would not like it torn limb from limb. But it was a human doll, and perhaps for that reason, D'Gar merely looked at it. Or perhaps he remembered his many lessons in polite behavior. After an awkward moment, D'Gar gave the doll back.

"You keep it," he said in Vulcan, adding in Standard, "thank-you."

T'Naisa leaned toward him, her eyes brimming with affection. In fluent Vulcan she said, "D'Gar. I have wanted to meet you for such a long time. Will you be my own little boy?" And she reached out her arms.

Spock had warned her against overwhelming the child in these first moments, to keep her distance until D'Gar became accustomed to her and these new surroundings. He could feel D'Gar letting go of his hand, and fully expected him to run out the door. Instead, D'Gar took a tentative step toward T'Naisa. A small step, but one might call it "a giant leap" for this boy.

T'Naisa smiled warmly at D'Gar, her arms open and welcoming. Responding to her motherly love, he moved forward, shyly entrusting himself to her embrace. Stunned, Spock met her tearful gaze as she held the boy tenderly and swayed to some sweet inner music. And in that moment he knew they were home to stay.


	4. A Life Reclaimed

Chapter 4: A Life Reclaimed

D'Gar had mastered Standard through a Vulcan technique called "mental infusion", but for the rest of the curriculum Spock required the discipline of study. The boy enjoyed his daily lessons. No one struck him when he made mistakes, and progress brought pleasant rewards like games or other forms of entertainment. Occasionally he became impatient over a problem and worked himself into a destructive tantrum, but Tess was teaching him to stamp his foot instead. Most of the time, the two children got along well together. Tess was glad to have a live-in playmate and her disability meant that their minds functioned on a similar level. But while Tess struggled to absorb even simple facts, D'Gar learned quickly. He had been baptized as a Yanashite and received religious instruction with his other lessons, but his favorite subjects were mathematics and science. Spock, whose own childhood interest had tended toward those same subjects, could not help but be pleased.

One morning at breakfast, Spock complimented his nephew. "D'Gar, you have a mind for science. You would do well to consider a career in that field."

Across the table, Tessie's face puckered and tears came into her big brown eyes, but Spock and T'Naisa's attention was still on D'Gar.

"Perhaps you will even join Starfleet, as I did," Spock said, and bit into his toast.

Tessie's voice broke like a storm. "You like him better than me!"

Astonished, Spock turned to his daughter. Tess had grown slim and long-legged, with a wavy drift of auburn hair that hung past her shoulders. Though she was only half Vulcan, she looked full-blooded, with features most like her mother, a woman of delicate beauty.

"Oh, Tessie," T'Naisa intervened. "You can't really believe that."

"I do so," Tess whined. "Digger's a boy. He's only four, but he's smart—lots smarter than me."

It was the first time that she had even spoken of her disability. Until D'Gar came, she had received her lessons in private and had no way to compare her educational progress to that of other children.

Spock realized that he should have seen this crisis coming. Carefully he explained, "D'Gar does not do well in his studies because he is a boy. It is because he has an aptitude for learning. No two persons are alike. No two minds function in the same way. You have difficulty absorbing your lessons, but you are a kind, thoughtful little girl who plays the piano beautifully—at times, even better than me."

Tess gave him a tremulous smile. The storm was over.

Relieved, Spock reached for the pills that kept his own brain functioning properly. Last night he had forgotten the ending of Simon's "Eleventh Street Blues". His hands had frozen above the piano keys, but sitting beside him, Tess had easily finished the composition from memory.

D'Gar asked, "Uncle Spock, why do you eat those pills?"

Spock swallowed a capsule with some fruit juice. Then he replied, "They are designed to treat a medical issue. I have a genetic condition that…" A sudden realization struck him, and he broke off the sentence. How had he not considered it before? Since he was predisposed to Bendii Syndrome, what of his twin brother?

oooo

Filming of "Saten" was well underway when Nayo revealed the sordid details of Vulcan biology to Madeline Krantz. There was a party at the producer's mansion in Aspen, and the two of them drifted apart from the others. They were discussing potential storylines for the "Saten" sequels that she envisioned. On a private balcony, the Saurian brandy tasted particularly good, and the summer sky was ablaze with stars. It was then that Nayo revealed the deep Vulcan secret.

Madeline's hair was dark, and her eyes a vivid shade of blue. She was a fine-looking woman with money and power and a stylish, self-confident flair. But she did not yet have Nayo, though he had long sensed that she found him attractive.

Now, flushed with brandy, she moved in very close to him and said, "I wish I were an actress…your leading lady…and we could play out a 'pon farr' scenario together…right here…right now."

Nayo was feeling the effects of the alcohol, and his blood stirred. Sola Thane was halfway across the galaxy—gone, as she was so often. In his own way he loved her, but it was in his nature to seize whatever pleasure was at hand. Reaching out, he crushed Madeline to him and delivered a passionate kiss.

There were still guests in the house, but Madeline informed them of her sudden "headache" and sent them home—all but Nayo, who awaited her upstairs and passed the entire night in her bedroom.

He was late for the next day's filming, but their new director was a soft-spoken man, ever solicitous toward his star performer. Prior to signing, Nayo had made it clear that he would not work with his former director under any circumstances and had gotten his way.

He was seated in the makeup chair, drinking hot coffee, when a delivery girl brought him a potted orchid with a card signed "M". The blossoms were vivid in color, for Madeline knew how he loved bright flowers. Their lovely scent reminded him of the perfume she had worn last night, in bed. Since she was human, he had at first been careful to contain his strength, but she had urged him on, taking pleasure in the rough game of pon farr.

Remembering, Nayo studied the orchid blossoms and sipped his coffee. He was still in the chair when his wrist phone went off. He checked the ID and his mood darkened from long habit. _Spock! What in hell could he be wanting at this early hour?_

Then Nayo thought of D'Gar and his heart seized. Had Spock changed his mind about their custody arrangement? Was he hoping to hand D'Gar over and be rid of the unruly brat? For one terrible instant, Nayo saw his self-centered life crumbling. But if he refused his own son—if it became a legal matter and got into the press—he would be sliced to pieces.

Angry at the thought, he triggered the phone on. "Yes! What do you want?"

Spock was strangely hesitant. "It…it is a deeply personal matter…but I must see you at once."

Nayo sent the makeup artist from the room, then spoke into the phone very quietly. "May I assume that it concerns a child?"

Once again, Spock was slow to answer. His voice seemed quite strained. "No. It does not. When can we meet?"

"I am a busy man."

"That is quite evident," Spock replied. "May I come to your home tonight?"

Nayo glanced at the orchid, his teeth clenching. What if Madeline invited him back to Aspen? But he had become curious about Spock's "deeply personal matter", and Madeline must not be led to believe that her authority extended even into the bedroom.

"Seven o'clock," Nayo said and abruptly broke the connection.

oooo

Enjoying his new sizeable income, Nayo had purchased a home on a hillside above Colorado Springs. A wall of steelglass windows overlooked terraced flower gardens, and nighttime brought a spectacular view of the city lights.

This was Spock's first visit to his brother's house. He transported into the front yard, and turning toward the lavish house, satisfied his curiosity with a long look before mounting the porch steps at precisely seven. Nayo came to the door in a garish robe and ushered him into a vaulted living area. The boldly decorated room showed surprisingly good taste. Spock noticed a plant on a side table—an exquisite specimen of orchid. Beside it, a small tray held a mound of crumpled cigarette butts. The air so reeked of tobacco that the flower's scent was barely discernable.

Facing his brother, he said, "You should not be smoking. It is detrimental to your health."

"Really," Nayo said with heavy sarcasm. "And I suppose that you are going to remind me that it's also illegal?"

They remained standing. Nayo's watchful eyes reminded Spock of a predator. Their relationship had never been easy and just now the strain between them seemed as deep as ever. D'Gar was an unseen presence, heavy on their minds, and fearing that he might lose the boy, Spock went on the offensive.

"In order to impersonate me, you must have received some education. Yet you smoke cigarettes and while away your days playacting in movie roles that are far from uplifting." He came close to adding, _You said it well—you are not fit to be a father._

Nayo's muscles visibly tightened and his eyes flamed. "You pious hypocrite! What gives you the right to criticize me? This is my life, not yours. Could it be that you are secretly jealous, brother?"

 _Jealous of Nayo?_ The idea was ludicrous, but Spock had already let his distaste for Nayo's lifestyle carry him too far. He had not come here to argue morality.

"I apologize," Spock said, casting about for some way to ease his twin's anger. "You work hard at what you do…and you have been a faithful husband to Sola Thane."

Nayo's jaw clenched with fresh, inexplicable anger. "What do you want? Say it quickly and get out!"

Spock nodded and drew in a slow breath. "I…have a medical condition. Since it is genetic in nature, you should be told."

As Nayo absorbed the information, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You seem healthy enough to me. But you are actually quite ill, is that it? Too sick to care for a troublesome boy like D'Gar."

The words struck a nerve in Spock, but judging by Nayo's tone, his brother had no interest in taking D'Gar away. He said, "I can handle the boy. As for my condition, daily medication keeps the symptoms at bay."

"What symptoms?" Nayo was clearly skeptical.

"Memory lapses, mood swings. At its worst, severe disorientation and hallucinations."

Nayo's mouth fell open. "A _mental_ disorder?"

The sting of humiliation made Spock flush. "Yes," he admitted. "It is called Bendii Syndrome—normally beyond medical help, but my unique— _our_ unique—genetic pattern makes treatment possible."

There was silence. Then finding his voice, Nayo said, "You never mentioned this before."

"Until this morning, it never occurred to me. I do have occasional lapses…"

Looking agitated, Nayo pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. He began to pace and curse under his breath.

Spock stepped away from the drifting smoke. "Nayo, my doctor will examine you. And we had best not delay, for I was diagnosed seven years ago."

Nayo came to a halt and swung around. "Seven years! If I'm susceptible, I would have shown symptoms by now."

"Perhaps."

Nayo put the cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply. Smoke poured from his nostrils. "This doctor of yours—is he discreet?"

The remark struck Spock as amusing, coming from a man who stank of illicit tobacco. Did he think no one noticed? "My condition has remained private, and Doctor McCoy will accord you the same respect."

oooo

Nayo stared down his nose at the wizened human male _. "This_ is your physician?"

"Yes," Spock answered in a cold tone. "Doctor McCoy is my physician…and my friend. We served together aboard the starship _Enterprise_."

"In which century?" Nayo drily inquired.

The aging doctor displayed a sardonic attitude as he looked Nayo over. "Well, well, my first movie star…and if it isn't Saten himself." Turning the same sort of attention on Spock, he remarked, "I always knew you had a bit of the devil in you."

Spock's revelation had shaken Nayo, but over the course of the week he recovered his self-assurance. To him, it seemed a simple matter of logic. Spock had developed dementia seven years earlier, but Nayo remained free of it. Therefore he must somehow be immune.

As the doctor showed him to the diagnostic table, Nayo said, "I assure you, this is quite unnecessary." He lay down stiffly. "There is nothing at all wrong with me. The Black League bred toughness; in some respects, it was a superior way of life."

McCoy snorted rudely as he shone a bright light into Nayo's eyes and studied the reaction of his pupils.

"What good is that?" Nayo protested.

"You can tell a lot about a man," McCoy drawled in some regional accent, "by lookin' deep into his eyes."

The remark was absurd. Impatiently Nayo said, "And what do you see?"

"Enough to make me blush."

Feeling the insult, Nayo started to rise, but McCoy shoved him flat on his back. The doctor was stronger than he appeared.

"Stay put!" McCoy ordered. "What's the matter, you green-blooded hobgoblin? Are you afraid? Would you like Spock to hold your hand?"

Though Nayo did not know the meaning of "hobgoblin", he clearly understood the suggestion of cowardice and could see that his brother was deriving a perverse pleasure from the situation. Spock was close to smiling, and it made Nayo's blood boil. He did not like being mocked, and all for nothing, for he was quite certain that he was in perfect health.

McCoy adjusted some instruments and the diagnostic bed began to hum. It soon completed its cycle. Nayo sat up and swung his legs over the side of the table, and this time no one attempted to stop him.

"Well?" he demanded of the ill-tempered old fool. "There is nothing wrong with me—nothing at all. Is there?"

McCoy turned from the readout screen. "Oh, I wouldn't say that…but your test _is_ clear."

Annoyed, Nayo went to his feet. This McCoy was an unpleasant man, but at least he had confirmed Nayo's theory. "As I thought," he snapped. "If I'm susceptible to Bendii, I would have shown symptoms by now. Good riddance to you both." And he headed for the door.

"Not so fast," McCoy said.

oooo

They had walked only a few paces from McCoy's office when Nayo opened the door of an empty examination room and gestured Spock inside. There, Spock suffered the full brunt of his brother's fury as Nayo stalked up and down, ranting at the unfairness of his life and what he perceived to be Spock's deliberate deception.

"Not the same age! How, by Surak's blood, can you be older— _ten years older?_ We're _twins_ , damn it!"

Standing aside, Spock quietly repeated the doctor's conclusion. "It is due to the unique regeneration of my body following my death."

Nayo pulled up short. His face contorted with rage. "'Unique regeneration? You knew all along that this regeneration of yours put your age in question. Why was there nothing about it in the news stories?"

"Because the details are—of necessity—classified. Now that you know of our age discrepancy, close monitoring and medication will—"

Nayo charged over and with outthrust hands slammed Spock against a wall. Inches from Spock's face, he shouted, "Pills! Pills don't always work! You've said so! Someday they might not work at all! Then what, brother?"

Though Spock knew that Nayo might strike him for it, he was moved to say, "That, we must leave to God."

Nayo exploded _. "God!_ I have no imaginary deity ordering _me_ around! I do as I please!"

"You have many gods," Spock calmly observed, "and that is the problem. But you will assimilate this shock in your own way. And when Sola Thane returns…"

Nayo reeled away with a stricken look on his face. Hoping to be of comfort, Spock said, "Tell her. Surely she will stand by you…just as you stand by her."

oooo

Saten was drunk.

Nayo had worn his scarlet costume home from the studio, and now he stood before a full-length mirror, glaring at his alter ego with loathing. But in reality, it was himself that he despised. _Nayo. S'chn T'gai Nayo of the noble clan Talek-sen-deen._

He laughed, and the dark moustache above his goatee curled in an ugly sneer. There was nothing noble about Saten. At least in that regard, Spock was correct. Saten was hardly an "uplifting" character, and in an X-rated sequel he would publicly descend into the mating madness of pon farr. Thanks to him…and Madeline Krantz.

 _Madeline._ He clutched at his head, knowing that he must erase every memory of her, yet realizing that he could not. Today his wife was coming home, and the very thought filled Nayo with dread, for her Zaran intuition would tell her that he had been unfaithful. Even the future threat of dementia seemed pale by comparison, because this reckoning with Sola was both imminent and unavoidable.

At the thought of losing her love, he broke into sobs and staggered over to a table where three orchid plants were artfully arranged. A swipe of his arm sent them crashing to the floor. Soil scattered. The delicate blossoms broke, and dropping to his knees, he pounded them into the carpet with his fist. But try as he might, he could not destroy the memories they evoked—the sordid memory of his three faithless trysts with the producer.

A wave of dizziness caught him and the room faded from view. When he came to himself, he was lying on the dirty carpet while the phone played Saten's theme song. Too drunk to care, he fumbled his way onto the sofa, lit a cigarette, and passed out again.

At the Phoenix Spaceport, Sola Thane turned off her wrist phone and considered. _Where could Nayo be?_ No matter how early he rose, he seldom went to bed before midnight. Well, she would be home in a few minutes, and then he would forget all about sleep.

After retrieving her luggage and passing through customs, she transported directly into an alcove of their home set aside for that purpose. Even before the beam released her, she knew something was wrong. The air was smoky with an acrid stench that set her coughing. Following the drift of smoke, she hurried into the living room and found Nayo sprawled on the sofa, dressed as Saten. There was a glass of liquor and an ash tray on the side table, and a patch of carpet smoldered below Nayo's limp hand. The scorched remains of a cigarette filter lay dead center in the charred spot.

Sola instantly evaluated the situation. With a surge of anger, she ran into the kitchen for a pan of water and doused the burned area. Then she gave Nayo's face a sharp little slap. He stirred, but did not awaken. Straightening, she glanced about and found the mangled remnants of some plants crushed into the carpet, and it did not improve her mood.

"Nayo!" she called, bending over him again, but there was no response.

Sola gave him a firm shake and he came alive, but barely. Struggling into a sitting position, he blinked at her.

"Nayo!" There was no restraining her anger. "What were you trying to do, burn down our house? You're drunk, aren't you?"

"Yesh," he answered with a thick tongue. He cleared his throat. "Yes…I think I am."

"I _know_ you are!" She had never seen him in such a state before. "What if an assassin got in here? They might still be around, you know, and bodyguards don't always catch them! You'd be dead!"

He leaned forward and rubbed a hand over his face. She had to strain hard to catch his words. It sounded like "Perhaps…perhaps it's better to be dead…"

Sola's annoyance was giving way to worry. This was not like the conceited Nayo who met each dawn with wicked enthusiasm. "What's wrong?" she asked. "What's happened to you?"

He sat silently staring at the floor.

Sola knelt before him and took his hands into her own, but he would not look at her. A sick feeling sidled into her stomach, and her heart slammed out of control. There was trouble in their bond—inebriated as he was, she felt him pulling back, slipping away and abandoning her to a solitary existence. And all at once, she realized why.

"You've been with another woman." The bitter words choked her.

Something ugly stirred in his drunken eyes, and looking straight at her, he said, "No."

Her throat was aching. "Don't lie to me—you've been unfaithful!"

"And if I have?" he dared her.

Thrusting his hands away, she sprang up and left the house. Blindly she stumbled down the steep driveway, into the night. Tears flowing, she ran hard along the road until a sharp pain stabbed at her side, making her pull up to catch her breath. She stood there, sobbing, until the physical ache began to fade.

Then—deep at her center, there came a wrenching. Though the sensation was new to her, Sola's head came up and her eyes widened from an inborn Zaran sense. Turning on her heel, she sprinted back to her faithless bondmate, for even now she loved him—now, perhaps, more than ever. Mounting the porch steps, she burst into the house, fearing what she would find.

Nayo lay on the floor. A knife jutted from his ribs and green blood was everywhere.

The pain did not last very long. Fully alert now, Nayo found himself in a dark fetid tunnel with no end in sight. Struggling with claustrophobia, he hurtled through the passage, yet he did not seem to be going anywhere. Gradually he became aware of other beings in the tunnel. He glimpsed black shapes and heard their low, mocking laughter and foul suggestions.

"Nayo… _Nayo…"_

Seized with unprecedented terror, he cried out wordlessly. The heavy walls pressed closer and something in the dark gripped him. He tried to pull away, but the unseen force began dragging him along. Rocks tore at his skin, but he was powerless to defend himself. Nayo cursed his tormentor and it laughed, moving him still deeper, toward a yawning chasm that he somehow knew was in the distance.

A desperate plea burst from his throat. " _Oekon gol-tor!_ God help me!"

The sickening motion stopped. A small light appeared, a mere flicker, but against the darkness of the tunnel, it seemed bright and beautiful. The shadowy creatures shrank from it, but Nayo stared at the light hungrily, for it was like a warm and comforting presence.

Then the Light reached inside him and opened him up. Like pus from a lanced infection, all of his life spilled out, and he saw everything that he had ever done. The ugly torrent swept by, and all that remained to him was a pathetic handful of kind thoughts and caring deeds. Even they looked dirty beside the Light.

And suddenly Nayo saw the problem clearly. To enter the realm of light, one must be as pure as the Light. Such purity was beyond his reach, but the Light had the power to transform him.

And now he was given a choice.

The blissful Light began to face. Nayo slipped from the tunnel and found himself hovering over a bloodied body as medical workers attempted to revive it. Outside the door Sola sat alone, her head in her hands.

"It's no use," one doctor said. "He's gone."

The announcement sent Nayo into a panic. They were giving up, ready to pull a sheet over his face and send him back into the tunnel—that black, filthy tunnel of his own making.

"No!" he shouted, for his life must not end here…must not end yet…

oooo

Spock's children had come to Plum Creek for a week's vacation. With T'Beth's youngsters, Simon's daughter, and Jamie's son, there were plenty of cousins to play with Tess and D'Gar. But mostly, D'Gar just watched. He had never seen so many children behaving peacefully, and took pleasure in all of it—particularly the evening campfire that featured storytelling. Most of the tales sprang from family memories, so it was a good way for D'Gar to develop a sense of clanship.

After one such session, as Spock put him to bed, D'Gar suddenly asked, "Uncle Spock, who is _my_ father…and _my_ mother? Where are they?"

Spock had known those questions were coming and had an answer ready. Smoothing D'Gar's blanket, he said, "A brother of mine fathered you, but he was unable to assume the responsibilities of parenthood. It was much the same for your mother. I'm glad that you live here with us. Did you have a good time today?"

D'Gar smiled, for the question had turned his thoughts to simpler matters, as Spock had hoped. And he said, "I like the children. Are they really all my _skann…_ my family?"

"Yes, all of them."

Relieved that the moment had gone so well, Spock briefly stopped by Tessie's bedroom to wish her a good night. His grandchildren had gone off to rooms at the seminary, but most of the adults were still in the cabin. As Spock entered the small living area, they turned such grim faces toward him that he was certain bad news was coming.

T'Naisa spoke. "Nayo's in the hospital. He almost died tonight."

Spock's children and their families had yet to meet the flamboyant Nayo. They found him something of an embarrassment—Spock's secret twin, Black League operative, troublemaker, movie villain. Unlike normal members of the S'chn T'gai family, Nayo was unpredictable and disruptive. But there were also those who considered Spock disruptive for embracing Yanash and promoting an unconventional way of life. Spock wished his brother would turn from his old ways and join the Yanashite rebellion.

Bracing for the worst, he asked, "What happened?"

"Knifed in the heart. Sola found him. It was a miracle he survived."

 _So the assassins were still at work._ Spock threw on a cloak and beamed over to the Colorado hospital. There was a time when T'Naisa would have insisted on accompanying him to ensure that he was never alone with Sola Thane. But tonight she had merely wished him well.

The Zaran sat near Nayo's bedside when Spock entered the surgical recovery room. Nayo lay with his eyes closed, perfectly still as an overhead panel monitored his condition. Thane saw Spock and put a finger to her lips. Swiftly rising, she drew him into a far corner.

"He lost most of his blood," she whispered. "Lucky they had T-negative on hand—you couldn't have given him enough." Her jaw tightened. "He was falling-down drunk. How did he expect to defend himself? If I hadn't come back in time…"

Nayo moaned, and they walked over to his bed together. The readouts on the wall monitor looked stable. The massive infusion of blood had cleared the alcohol from his system and Nayo's eyes were coming open.

Spock addressed Thane in a low voice. "A healing trance would be beneficial. Once the drugs clear from his system…if he has received the appropriate training…"

"I have," Nayo spoke quite softly, yet managed to convey his annoyance.

Turning to him, Spock said, "I understand it was not much of a fight."

Nayo's brows drew together in a frown.

"The police are downstairs," Thane told him. "They want to talk to you before the trail gets cold. They're going over the house, too. Was it a Vulcan?"

Nayo seemed to be thinking. Finally he said, "My memory is…uncertain."

"It _must_ have been a member of the Black League," Thane insisted. "Damn! They're supposed to be watching the transporter grid."

 _"I_ slipped in," Nayo reminded her. "Broad daylight, at Denver Spaceport."

Thane's expression hardened. "Well, we both know you have a talent for slipping things by. A real master of deceit."

Spock wondered at her tone and Nayo's shamefaced reaction. Here was something unexpected—Nayo setting aside his monumental pride to display remorse. Over his drunkenness?

Thane made a move for the door. "I'm getting the police."

"No." Nayo sounded weak but adamant. "I don't feel up to it. Tell them tomorrow."

"You should be safe," Spock said. "There is a guard stationed outside this room."

Thane nodded. "And I'll be guarding him myself."

Spock studied his brother's face. Once more, he sensed a difference in Nayo that ran deeper than his pallid skin and guarded expression. Suddenly he remember a small paper book in his pocket and wondered if he had been inspired to bring it.

Spock drew out the valuable limited edition and said, "Here is a book by Sparn to help you pass the time. As you may recall, he is the uncle you insulted on Vulcan. In some ways, he was once very much like you."

Nayo glanced at the Vulcan script of the title and read it aloud. "Sparn: A Life Reclaimed". And he did not reject it.

oooo

Nayo welcomed the hospital stay. With the help of a healing trance, the damage to his heart mended rapidly, but the severe loss of blood had sapped his strength, and his chest often pained him when he breathed. It was a good opportunity to think, and he had many things to consider—foremost among them, Madeline Krantz.

With the breaking news of his injury, flowers from adoring fans began pouring into his private room. But each time Sola pressured him about speaking to the police, he made excuses and delayed.

Finally, throwing her hands into the air, she exclaimed, "Why? Why aren't you cooperating? How else can they find the killer?"

They were alone, and Nayo said it quickly, to be done with it. "There is no killer."

Sola went still as stone. Uncomprehending, she stared at him.

"You had best sit down," he said. Just then an attendant entered the room carrying a potted orchid. "Not in here!" Nayo snapped at him. "Take it to another room—take it away and shut the door!"

The aide made her escape, and once more Nayo was alone with his bondmate.

"Well," she said quietly, "it looks like you _are_ feeling better."

But Nayo was not feeling at all well. His breakfast churned in his stomach and his wound site ached. He could only hope that his mended heart could stand up to this.

"Time for truth," he said.

"Truth." Sola sank into a bedside chair, her tawny eyes wary. "Alright then…I'm listening."

He felt as if he were crawling back out of that dark tunnel, one handhold at a time. Staring down at his blanket, he said, "The wound was self-inflicted…from a hidden weapon that I carry." He breathed in deeply and winced. "After you left, I attempted suicide. The Vulcan heart is easily reached by a knife thrust between the ribs. I…betrayed our bond…I lied to you…and seeing you leave me, I could not go on." A pang of fear made him hesitate, but he knew that he had to say it. "I _have_ been with another woman—not for love, but on selfish impulse. A stolen pleasure…a fleeting thrill…and for what? I do not expect you to forgive me."

Sola's voice was lifeless. "One woman?"

"One."

"And I suppose you'll tell me that it happened only once."

"Three times," he admitted, raising his eyes to hers. "Three nights…at her house, not ours." As if that made any difference.

 _"Ours?"_ Sola flew out of her chair and paced. "If we don't have a commitment to one another, we don't anything!" She stopped and turned to him, tears making their way down her cheeks.

"I know." The pain in Nayo's ribcage was sharp, but there was another, deeper hurting unlike any he had ever felt before. And he, too, experienced tears. "I am sorry. Sola…I…I _do_ love you."

oooo

As Sola watched Nayo holding court in silk pajamas, she wondered if she had expected too much from him. After all, he was a virile man—selfish, impulsive, and lacking in moral discipline. She had known all that when she made him the object of her matehunt. Was it really surprising that he had strayed?

Between visitors, he kept his nose buried in the book Spock had given him. An autobiography, a spiritual treatise. He actually seemed serious about improving himself. If only it would last.

Yet again, the door slid open and a woman walked into the room. Nayo glanced toward her and let the book drop. His heart monitor took a jump. Emanating power and wealth, the glamorous Madeline Krantz went straight to Nayo's beside, ignoring Sola as if she did not exist. Makeup and expensive clothing made the producer seem beautiful, but Sola sensed that it was only a façade.

"Nayo darling…" Krantz leaned over and kissed her star performer on the corner of his mouth.

Seeing Nayo's muscles stiffen and his lips press into a firm line, Sola knew at once. This was the woman. She sensed Nayo's deep embarrassment and found that she felt sorry for him. There was nothing of substance here. The woman was as shallow as a mirage.

"Nayo _darling_ ," Krantz repeated in a sugary voice, "whatever were you thinking? It's not like you to be careless."

To spare his pride and avoid negative publicity, Nayo had lied to the investigators. He had simply fallen on his knife while practicing a fight routine.

Krantz picked up Nayo's book, glanced at the Vulcan script, and tossed it aside. Her possessive gaze scanned the jumble of flowers filling every corner of the room. "But where's the orchid I sent you? For your collection?"

Sola could hear no more of this. "What collection, my dear lady? You must be mistaken. My husband has no orchids…either here or at home."

The haughty eyes that settled on Sola were as blue as ice. "I see," declared the producer. She turned to Nayo. "Take care of that heart, darling. Remember, it's under contract."

As she swished out the door, Sola could not resist saying, "To Warner's, not you… _darling."_

oooo

Long after Madeline's visit, Nayo burned with shame. It came as no surprise to him that she was cold and ruthless, but today—for the first time—she had seemed ugly.

After Sola left, he put a halt to visitors and escaped into Sparn's book. It was as Spock had said. At times the Vulcan did seem like a faint reflection of himself—restless, prideful, driven by selfish desires. Like Nayo, Sparn had hated Spock with a lifelong passion. Also like Nayo, Sparn's wife had once walked out on him.

Nayo had always used his past to justify his behavior, but in the dark tunnel he had seen the fruits of corruption—in the cruel, shadowy creatures tormenting him, and worst of all in himself. There, in the presence of the Light, he had been made to face his frailty and acknowledge his imperfections. He had returned here to battle them, but like Sparn, he felt powerless against the ingrained habits of a lifetime.

 _Sin._

Nayo stared at the word in a quote from Yanash. A week ago he would have mocked the idea of sin and standards of behavior based on an ultimate truth. He had believed that there were many truths because each person created his own. But the tunnel experience had brought a shift of perspective that left his heart yearning for that sweet, elusive Light.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the feeling of comfort the Light had brought him when it broke through the terrible darkness. At the compound, he had practiced an ancient form of Vulcan meditation meant to calm and focus the mind on Black League training. The act of stripping away extraneous thoughts had produced a small measure of peace. But this was different. Here, it was not an absence that he found peaceful, but a Presence.

oooo

It was pleasant sitting on the back terrace. The afternoon sun gave warmth to the mountain air as Sola watched Nayo light a cigarette and stretch his legs like a languorous cat. His eyes were on the flower garden where he had been puttering. It was a riot of color, for he had been at it each day, recovering his strength before returning to his work at the studio.

He smoked in silence, flicking the ashes of his cigarette onto the stonework beneath their feet. It had been like this since the doctors snatched him from the brink of death. All he did was think, and it troubled Sola. Was he brooding over his adulterous acts? Were his thoughts turning suicidal again?

Suddenly she could no longer bear the quiet. With her heart in her throat, she leaned toward him. "Nayo, talk to me. Is it about that woman? Is that what's bothering you?"

His brown eyes briefly found her, then he was looking at the flowers again.

A new thought sent her heart racing. The doctor had said there was no apparent damage to Nayo's brain, but most of his blood had soaked into the carpet. Since that day, he had not been the same.

There was no delicate way to phrase it. "Nayo…are you feeling alright? I mean, maybe your brain function is…" She braced for an angry outburst.

Nayo's gaze never left the garden. Quite calmly he said, "My mental processes are clearer than they have ever been." One eyebrow rose. "And I find it ironic."

"How so?"

He put the cigarette to his mouth and breathed in deeply.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," she said.

Exhaling a stream of smoke, he looked at her. "You never cared before. You said that smoking suited me."

"I care now," she said. "Nayo, I love you. I want you to be healthy."

He tossed the cigarette aside, and standing up, crushed it under one custom-made Nathan Blom shoe. His wrist phone pinged, but he ignored it, turning instead to Sola. Meeting her eyes, he said, "For now, there is nothing wrong with my intellect, but…that might not always be so." Then he told her about Spock's condition, about the unexpected difference in their physiological ages, and the genetic time bomb ticking away.

"Bendii Syndrome." Sola's heart went heavy as she thought of Spock's keen mind impaired. But Nayo, too? Surely not Nayo! A sharp stab of fear sent her into his arms. "It won't happen," she insisted, "not to you. I won't let it happen!" As if even a seasoned Federation Free Agent could stop the relentless course of nature.

Nayo kissed the hair near her temple, and as they held one another, she sensed an uncharacteristic peace within him.

She said, "You're taking this well."

He gave a short laugh. "The strength is not mine, I assure you. There is a power…a Light…beyond me. I have seen it. I have felt its touch."

Sola drew back and stared at him. Was his mind slipping, after all? But Nayo's eyes were clear and sane. Though his phone was pinging again, she scarcely heard it, for he had taken a breath and began to speak.

He said, "I want to tell you what happened when I died."

oooo

Nayo liked bringing Sparn's book to the makeup chair. Since no one present spoke the Vulcan language, there was no chance of anybody ridiculing him or the Yanashite material. He was fascinated by the story of Sparn's transformation from a bitter fool into a man of character. Selfish aims had seemed good to Sparn, and in order to improve, he had needed something more than his own strength. Yanash had served as the catalyst for change, bringing Sparn all the strength he needed.

As Nayo read, passages of Yanashite scripture rose into his mind, for he had committed them all to memory in order to impersonate Spock. Verses that had once seemed ridiculous, now occasionally imparted an insight into a world very different from that which he had always known. The more he pondered, the more his heart felt drawn to that place of beauty.

 _His heart? Or was is it his soul?_

The concept of a soul was something new to him, for the Dark Masters had worked hard to extinguish it, lest some noble stirring interfere with their evil aims. Memories of those masters and their cruelty fanned the old, familiar hatred. All day, Nayo felt irritable and kept to himself between scenes.

Within the week, filming on "Saten" ended, and he was called into a studio office for contractual discussions. He had no agent, preferring to handle all his own affairs. He came knowing how eagerly the public was awaiting "Saten's" premiere. And he came knowing that Warner intended to sign him for the first of many projected sequels.

Dressed in casual but expensive clothes, Nayo entered the office and found Madeline Krantz sitting alone at a desk. This, he had not anticipated, and a rush of adrenaline made his wound site twinge.

With a pasted-on smile, Madeline rose and came over to him. Embracing his stiff body, she purred, "Nayo, darling," and began stroking the back of his neck. "Darling, you look wonderful."

Nayo felt the pull of her seductive wiles and extricated himself. Levelly he said, "I understood this would be a business meeting."

"It is," she confirmed.

"Then you are handling my contract." Not a good situation at first glance, but ultimately she would have "called the shots" anyway. Perhaps it was best to battle it out face to face, like asumi warriors.

"Do sit down," she said, and they took their positions.

Madeline pushed a paper contract across the desk and eyed him. "It's a generous offer—double your last film, and a whole treasure trove of rights. You'll be stinking rich."

Nayo thumbed through the pages. It was indeed a tempting offer, but he had to refuse it. "There is a problem," he observed.

Madeline sighed. "Oh, don't be temperamental—it's so boring."

These past months, they had spoken at length about the upcoming sequel and shared ideas for its plot. Nayo had already read a rough script for a pon farr scenario and he had liked it, even knowing the embarrassment it would bring to Vulcans everywhere. But now he found himself recalling the point in Sparn's book where Yanash cooled the fever of pon farr and declared his followers free of its worst effects. Free of the mating madness that Vulcans kept carefully hidden from outworlders. Of course, there were sensational stories circulating, but they amounted to nothing more than speculation. For until now, no Vulcan had ever divulged the full degrading details of the seventh year, and any offworlders in a position to know had likewise held their silence.

As Nayo considered these matters, Madeline got up and came around the desk. In a drift of exotic perfume, she slipped an arm around his shoulders. Bending to his ear, she stroked his bearded chin and murmured, "Perhaps I can find a _little_ more money for you…"

Her confining embrace brought an image of the dark, suffocating tunnel. The heat of her desire flared against his mental barriers, making it difficult to think clearly.

"Madeline," he said very politely, "it is not a matter of payment. Please…remove your hands. I am a touch telepath. You do not want me observing your thoughts while we negotiate."

She laughed, but her business sense made her return to the desk. "Alright," she said, "let's have it. If it's not money, then what _do_ you want?"

"A new script," he told her.

Madeline threw back her head and laughed again, loudly. "Not a chance, darling! You better settle for the money."

Nayo reached deep for the courage to take this one stand for decency and risk a promising career. "No. I believe it is time that we take Saten in a new direction. He is far from a positive influence, but we can remedy that. First, we must shelve the pon farr scenario. It would offend the Vulcan community and many children would ultimately be exposed to—"

 _"Children?"_ Madeline burst from her chair again. With hands on her desk, she leaned toward him and sneered, "Since when are _you_ worried about children? Does the name D'Gar mean anything to you?"

Nayo froze. _So she knew. But how?_

"I don't blame you for casting off the little beast, but don't pretend to me that you care about children when you don't even give a damn for your own."

It was a well-placed blow, and he drew in a slow breath before countering. "Very well. If you will not reconsider, you can find yourself a new Saten. I won't sign."

Madeline's eyes glinted dangerously. "Sign, or I'll shelve the entire project. I'll bury 'Saten' so deep in the vault, it will never see the light of day. And as for you, darling—you can kiss your pathetic little career goodbye. When your fans find out how you really feel about your son, you'll be box office poison."

Nayo believed her, for in that moment of truth she seemed capable of anything, however dirty. The power that he had once found so attractive was now arrayed against him. Beaten, he stood, and his words came as something of a surprise to him. Was it pride or some nobler stirring that framed his reply?

"Then so be it," he said, and walked out the door.

oooo

After Punjab and the shores of Bombay, Sola was ready to head back to Colorado. Her work as a Federation Free Agent involved a great deal of travel, and now that she had a home, she preferred to spend her down time there. With Nayo, it was different. The desolate years lived underground made everything new to him, and he could not get enough of this beautiful, diverse world called Earth.

When Nayo pressed to go on, Sola did not object. Traveling helped take his mind off his dismissal from the studio. She was proud of the stand he had taken and told him so, but Nayo enjoyed acting and would miss his days in front of the camera.

"Another studio will want you," she tried to assure him.

Even here in India, fans recognized Nayo and asked for his autograph. As they wandered the sub-continent, Nayo kept an eye on the entertainment news outlets, watching for the producer's vicious story to break.

"What does it matter?" Sola said. "Let people think the worst. You know why you handed D'Gar over to Spock. Your conscience is clear."

Nayo made no response and she could feel him drawing back into one of his pensive moods. He decided to travel north. Shadowed by Federation guards, they arrived in New Delhi at sunset. A hot breeze rustled the palm trees, carrying a dusty desert scent. Sola wondered why he had chosen an area so similar to Vulcan, a land he detested.

After dining on the local cuisine, they went out into the streets. Haunting strains of Indian music drifted from open windows. A bright moon hung in the sky and as the night cooled, more and more people came outdoors—Indian natives, fellow tourists, and even a Vulcan or two. At the sight of them, Sola tensed, for any Vulcan might be a Black League operative out to slay Nayo, and guards could only do so much.

They arrived safely back at their hotel, turned in for the night, and made love.

The pinging of Nayo's wrist phone awakened her. Sola reared up and found his side of the bed empty. The bathroom door was open, the interior dark and silent. He was gone.

Her heart pounding, she reached over and grabbed his phone from a side table. A Warner Brothers executive greeted her and asked for Nayo. It was daytime in Colorado Springs—business hours.

Explaining that he was not present, she said, "I'll have him call you."

Sola's Zaran eyes could see well enough in the faint light from the windows. Still unclothed, she stood and used the sensors in her skin, along with her bonding center, to search out Nayo's general location. Then she dressed and set off in an eastward direction.

The streets were mostly empty now. The moon was low in the sky and the buildings cast long shadows, black as ink. _What was Nayo doing out here alone?_ Sola's quick, long strides took her to an outskirt of the sprawling city. A wakeful monkey cut across her path and scurried up a tall palm. On the road beside her, an air car slowed to a hover. A dark-skinned man leaned out the window and propositioned her, but Sola's fierce demeanor sent him on his way. Still on Nayo's trail, she turned a corner. Directly ahead, a massive stone building filled a cul-de-sac, and she knew he was inside.

With all her Zaran senses alert, Sola approached the structure. A Federation guard eyed her from beside a heavy door that bore symbols of the Yanashite faith. The door opened at her touch and she slipped inside. A dim, restful light burned near the entrance, and candles guttered by an altar at the front of the nave. The interior smelled of incense and looked very old. Perhaps at one time it had served Hindu worshippers, but now the side-niches held Yanashite icons instead of statuary.

She stepped into the nave and scanned the benches. As her eyes settled on Nayo, he rose to face her. In her relief, she rushed over and kissed his mouth passionately. She might have scolded him, but he would only have reminded her that a former Black League operative was fully capable of defending himself, that he even carried a concealed sidearm to supplement his asumi skills and ever-present dagger. But it was an ambush that Sola feared—the swift bolt of a phaser coming out of nowhere. Thinking of that threat and wanting badly to go home, she clutched him. Sola Thane, afraid—not for herself, but for someone even more precious to her, despite his faults.

With his slender fingers, Nayo tipped her face upward and looked into her eyes. "I am alright. There is nothing to fear."

Dangerously close to tears, she nodded. "I know. The studio called…but you weren't there. It might be important…I had to find you."

They both knew the real reason why she had tracked him down, but she handed over her phone and he sat to make the call. As she wandered around the temple's interior, snatches of his conversation came to her.

"Indeed. I see. Yes. Yes, of course…I shall. Yes, I am sure we can reach some sort of agreement. Tomorrow…excellent…I'll be there."

She saw him end the exchange and pocket the phone. As she returned to him, he stood and beheld her with one devilish brow cocked.

"Well?" she prompted.

A smile stirring, he said, "Madeline Krantz is off any future Saten projects—permanently. Warner wants to hear my storyline ideas. We're…'doing lunch' tomorrow."

"What about the current movie? Is she really shelving it? And there's that matter of D'Gar…"

"Warner reminded her of a contract she had signed regarding negative publicity. And as for 'Saten', that same standard contract gives the studio full authority regarding any film's release. The executive assured me that Madeline will not be making any more trouble."

oooo

Autumn brought a hazy glow to Plum Creek. The days were noticeably shorter, and the nights took on a sharp mountain chill. With the return of the seminarians, Spock was busy all week, but on a Saturday afternoon he joined T'Naisa and the children outside. The weather was pleasantly warm as he pulled out the old donkey cart and helped T'Naisa harness Poncho. Tess and D'Gar clambered onto the seat. Their faces glowing with excitement, the children took turns driving the burro in wide circles around the clearing.

Spock retreated to the porch and sat on the bench beside T'Naisa, just watching them play. Ghostly memories stirred—images of another boy and girl riding in the same burro cart under a bright Arizona sky. Now James was a married man, living in California with his wife and son. But little Teresa remained a child in Spock's thoughts, forever frozen at just Tessie's age. There were times, such as this, when he seemed to sense her presence, as if she had stepped down from heaven to share the children's fun.

Spock glanced toward the creek, where yellowing plum foliage contrasted boldly with the pines. It was a fanciful act—against all logic—as if a quick turn might bring a glimpse of Teresa's blonde curls and smiling face. Incredibly, Spock detected a furtive movement, a brief flash of someone drawing back behind a tree. _Had he only imagined it? Could it be a fleeting Bendii hallucination?_

Beside him, T'Naisa noticed his shift of attention. "Did you see something over there?"

"Perhaps," he said, focusing hard on the area. There, again. Someone _was_ in the trees, and it was no wraith. It was his brother.

The thought of Nayo lurking in the woods sent a chill through Spock. Nayo's character had shown some improvement, but no well-intentioned man invaded another's privacy in this underhanded manner. _What could Nayo want?_ There seemed only one possible answer. _He must want D'Gar._

Spock rose from the bench and told T'Naisa, "It is Nayo. Keep the children here." Then he headed toward the woods alone.

Nayo noticed his brother's quick, angry stride, and did not attempt to escape. It pleased him to see Spock defend Plum Creek from intruders. It meant that D'Gar was safe, and Nayo could discern that he was well-cared for—a sturdy, handsome boy, actually laughing aloud in the colorful little cart with his cousin. Yet a wrenching envy flooded him as he recalled the unrelenting misery of his own childhood.

At that moment, Spock came around the tree and confronted him.

Under cover of the woods, Spock eyed Nayo's plain dark clothing. "Not your usual bright feathers, brother. What is this? Hiding again? Spying on my family? To what purpose?"

"To look upon my son," Nayo answered.

"To look upon him?" Spock echoed with suspicion. "Perhaps you mean to take him, but I would not advise such an attempt."

The less-than-subtle threat roused Nayo's temper. "I remind you that D'Gar is _my_ son, not yours."

Nayo saw pain flare in his twin's eyes, and realized that Spock truly cared about D'Gar and feared losing him.

"I am his legal guardian," Spock said stiffly. "You yourself saw to that. Have you changed your mind?"

A thing or two about Nayo were indeed changing, or he would never have crept back into these woods for a peek at his son. It was all he had wanted—just a glimpse to reassure himself that the boy was treated well. Satisfied, he said, "I've had a lingering concern that you are sheltering D'Gar out of a sense of duty, but today I have seen that you are providing him with something more than shelter. Keep him, Spock. There may come a day when he will want to meet me, a day when he is ready to bear the whole truth. On that day, I will come to your front door."

"And I will welcome you," Spock said, clearly relieved. Briefly spreading his fingers in a Vulcan salute, he turned and walked back to the clearing.

The sound of the children's laughter tugged at Nayo's heart, and he peered out from behind the tree trunk one last time. D'Gar was standing in front of the stubborn burro, tugging at a face strap with all his might.

Softly Nayo said, "Farewell, my son."

oooOOooo


End file.
